


Mind Your Brother

by Dunaven



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 13-year-old virgin Sam, Experienced Dean, Gets very dark, Multi, Pornography, Rape, Violence, child pornography, starts fluffy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:33:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 38
Words: 25,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28025532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dunaven/pseuds/Dunaven
Summary: Dean’s a good kid. Really.Usually, he does exactly what his dad tells him.When John leaves him in charge of Sam, dutiful big brother tries to be a good role model. The trouble is, if Dean teaches his brother everything he knows, he might just wreck the boy.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 114
Kudos: 108





	1. Chapter 1

“What are you watching?”

Sam, that nosy little bastard, already asked that question ten minutes ago. Dean gave him the same answer then:

“Mind your own business.”

He turns a bit more sideways on their father’s California king-sized bed and uses his left shoulder as a shield to keep Sam from looking at his iPod’s screen. 

Sam, the brainiac, always wants to know everything. He's always been like that, but he's 13 and probably can't help being annoying all the time.

“Why don’t you turn on one of your nerd documentaries?”

Netflix is oozing with the stuff Sam likes: Cosmos, with that cool black guy, Brain Games with that hot Spanish guy. Something about history or science or whatever.

Trails of water trickle down the window. Dean licks his lips and eases down beneath the sheet. Even with the AC blasting, it’s technically too hot to be under a sheet. But Sam would get a crystal clear clue what Dean is up to if he wasn’t covered.   
He’s just rubbing himself, real casual with his right hand. Not generating enough friction to shake the bed - and honestly, not enough to get off.

What is he supposed to do? If it wasn’t raining maybe they’d hop on their bikes and ride to the mall. But honestly, Dean doesn’t feel like doing anything other than what he’s doing right now. 

FaceTime rings. Cassie. Just 'cause she's his girlfriend, does he have to talk to her every single day?  
Dean swears and answers.

“'T’s up?”

“What are you doing?” She asks. 

Why is Dean surrounded by nosy people? 

“Chillin’”

Sam takes the sound of her voice as an invitation to photobomb his conversation. He leans over and flashes a peace sign. 

“Hey, Sam,” Cassie grins. “I’m bored. You guys want to go do something?”

“It’s raining,” Dean answers, rolling his eyes. 

His thumb is hovering over the red button. 

“Did your dad already leave?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s gone a week, right?”

If she already knows the answer, why does she even ask?

“Oh. Okay?” Cassie says, suddenly quiet. “Well, call me.”

“All right.” 

Dean presses END and goes back to what he was doing before the rude interruption. 

For a moment, Sam returns to his show. Something about aliens.  
You’d think he’d be satisfied. He’s got the big TV. Dean is contenting himself.

But no, a few minutes later, Sam elbows his arms and whines, “I want to go to the library.”

“You know you’re not allowed to go anywhere by yourself.”

“Yeah, you have to take me.”

“I’m not going out in the rain, Sam.”

“It’s probably warm and nice.”

Dean scoffs and doesn’t even look at him. It’s a mistake to look at Sam when he’s begging. That’s how he always gets his way. Those hazel eyes get all big and round like Puss in Boots and then all of a sudden, you’re doing the baby’s bidding like a mindless slave. 

Sam offers a compromise. “Can we go later?”

“Maybe. Shut up.”

And he actually does, for a little while. Then, he peeks over again and asks, “What are you watching?”


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re not old enough.”

To Sam, that's like saying, 'try to snatch the tablet and run.' 

Only Dean saw that coming, jabs him with an elbow to the nose. Sam howls, grabs his face, and whimpers. Little punk. But as soon as he recovers, he’s back at it, grasping for the screen. 

“What is it, Dean? Just show me.”

Dean keeps him at bay with one arm. “If I show you, you’re going to freak out and tell Dad and I don’t need that kind of heat.”

“No, I won’t. Just show me.”

Dean is watching THE hottest prom on the internet. He knows because he has been to the end of the internet in search of its finest porn. This is a couple of British guys, Rourke and Zomething-Foreign. The big guy is built like a superhero, the little guy looks like a girl and they are the fucking shit. 

Sam is not ready for this. No way in hell this egghead is ready. 

Dean taps over to the females: blonde chick alone, flicking her clit. That’s better. 

When Dean reveals, Sam’s mouth opens wide enough to stick a dildo in it. He stops breathing for a second. 

“I told you.”

“No. No. I didn’t… I thought… I just… Show me again.” 

Dean shouldn’t be doing this. Sam’s still a little kid. Not just because of his age, but because of his mind - all full of SpaceEx and Skylanders and stupid kid shit like that. He shouldn’t get into porn until he falls into it by himself. Dean’s not even sure if the kid jerks off yet. 

“Dean, show me.”

There’s a special place in Hell reserved for people who show kids porn before their time. 

“Dean.”

When Sam reaches for the iPad, Dean doesn’t fight. That’s about the same as giving it to him, but maybe slightly less bad. 

Sam watches with the same intensity he studies everything. 

“She’s touching her clitoris,” he says. “That’s their pleasure center.”

Way to take the sexy out of sex, Dr. Sam.

Now that the cat has escaped the bag and is tearing around the room, at least Dean can tend to himself properly. Of course, a gentleman would go into the bathroom, turn on the shower, and beat off on the toilet.   
Not in front of the kid. 

That picture is on their dad’s dresser, where it always is. The one from the summer before the fire. They’re all there: Mom, Dad, baby Sam, sweet little Dean before he became this creep, even Uncle Jesse. All smiling and living it up like nothing could ever go wrong.

Dean sends a silent apology into the universe and takes a deep breath. As he exhales, Sam’s greedy eyes are no longer on the screen but on Dean's right hand snaking under the sheet.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam sucks his entire lower lip between his teeth, blinks like a baby rabbit watching a fox approach.

Dean ought to stop. This is enough for one day. He ought to go into his own room, lock the door, and leave the baby in peace. What he does instead is pull back the sheet so Sam gets the full view of Dean’s meat jutting out of his fist.

Sam gasps and rubs the back of his hand over his mouth, back and forth like he used to do when he was little and he was trying to figure something out. Sammy’s confused face.

_No worries, little brother. It’s just a stiff dick._

“Want to show me what you got?”

Sam blinks. Keeps rubbing his lips - not in a seductive way. In a ‘Dean-I’m-a-little-kid-what-are-you-doing? way.

“Come on.”

Dean draws back the sheet, exposing that Little Sammy ain’t all that little anymore. Beneath his shorts, he’s standing at full attention. Dean smirks.

“Come on, Sam. You can do it, too.”

Sam looks at the TV as if the aliens will rescue him.

No chance. Big Brother's got him now.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam doesn’t need the alien’s guidance. Dean's got this well under control.

“Come on, it’s okay,” he says gently bumping his shoulder against Sam’s. “I just want to see. Or are you too little?”

Magic words. Too easy. Like getting undressing a baby.  
Sam pulls back his elastic band and peers down at himself, like he’s not sure what he’s looking at. 

“Just touch yourself, man. Like this.”

Sam mimics Dean every move, like a little robot. His fingers curl in the same way. He matches Dean’s stroke and pace, rubbing his thumb over the tip at the same time. 

Dean slows everything way down, making it even easier for Sam to imitate. He doesn’t usually beat off with this kind of attention, but damn. His grip slips to the base and a wave of heat rushes from his cock to his throat. Freaking goosebumps burst over his skin, as if he’s never done this before. 

Then again, he never has. Not with Sammy, who’s so close their elbows bump. Sam’s halted breath in his ear. Sam gasping and shuddering so hard he shakes the mattress like a force of nature. Dean stops what he’s doing to watch Sam’s eyes squeeze shut, face pinched with concentration. He lets out a low, vicious groan, but doesn’t shoot. 

He’s too little to come.

Jesus. That should not be hot. 

“Shit, Sam.”

Sam drops his head against the backboard, chin to the ceiling, panting with his mouth wide open. Dean could let it be over. Lesson complete. Or he could stroke a finger down the baby’s exposed neck. 

Sam sucks in a quick burst of air but doesn’t ask Dean to stop.  
Silence is magic, too.


	5. Chapter 5

If Sam doesn’t outright ask him to stop, who knows how far this will go? Whereas if Sam so much as whispers it, Dean will quit and nothing on earth could make him continue. 

Dean hasn’t come yet and after that dry orgasm, Sam’s still hard as ever. Big brother spits into his palm and takes Sammy’s hot little rod in his hand. Not so little: thumb-width and long as a number 2 pencil. And he’s still growing. Might be a monster, yet. 

Sam snaps alert, but again, not a peep. Just more shuddering and whimpering. 

Dean’s brain goes off: Red Alert! Red Alert! Abort! Abort!

Dean’s hand, though, responds to other commands.  
How could he possibly stop? He slows it down, presses his forehead to Sam’s clammy one, and swallows Sam’s sharp inhales as if they were intoxicating. 

“That good?”

Sam nods. Of course, it’s fucking good. He’s getting a hand job from a guy who’s been giving them his whole life. 

“I got you, Sammy. You know that, right?”

Sam nods again. His eyes haven’t opened since the first go ‘round. 

“You like it?”

Another nod.  
Usually, this kid can’t shut the hell up.  
Sam’s already overactive mind is probably churning 10,000 MPH.

“Sam, say something, buddy.”

His breathing changes. Not really panting anymore so much as sucking in quick bursts of air. He shakes his head sharply, but the sob happens anyway followed by a steady stream of tears rushes from between his long lashes. 

“Shit. Sam, listen. It’s okay, all right. We’re just playing around. It’s not… Shit.”

Dean wraps both arms around his kid brother and rocks him a little. He could apologize a hundred thousand times, but he shuts the hell up and lets Sam cry it out. This shit is intense. Dean knows that.

When Sam pulls it together, they just chill, shoulder to shoulder up against their dad’s headboard. The aliens have gone off and now it’s WWII. Dean does his best MST 3000 impression, imitating the Germans' accent and talking shit about their clothes, their mustaches, and their stupid goose-step. 

Eventually, Sam giggles.  
Thank God.  
Then he laughs, drops his head onto Dean’s shoulder, and twines their fingers together. 

Okay.


	6. Chapter 6

While Sam sleeps, Dean texts Cassie.

ME - Hey

CR - What are you going to do?

Why are females so annoying? Sometimes, Dean regrets telling her anything? Instead of replying to her, he rereads the last few messages from M.

A Michael Jackson meme that was probably funnier a generation ago.  
Dean had replied - LOL

Then, a bunch of serious junk about Jesus. He doesn’t respond to that stuff. Religion isn’t his family’s thing. 

Sam has been asleep long enough. It’s 2 AM and time to get this show rolling. Dean hasn’t slept, but he’s fully alert. Ready as ever.

He shakes his brother’s skinny shoulder. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty.” 

Sam squints and groans. “No.”

Dean could mess with Sammy while he sleeps. Drop a pin in that idea for later. Right now, Dean wants his full attention. 

Sam complains awake and says he has to pee.  
Fine. 

“Come right back here.”

The sneaky little cuss could try to go back to his bedroom after, but Dean will just drag him right back here.  
They don’t usually crash in their dad’s bed, but this is a special occasion. Winchester boys at home, alone for a week. How often does that happen?

Usually, their dad is in his home office, shackled to his desk. Every Friday night, he takes his girlfriend, Vickie out dancing. Saturdays and Sundays, Uncle Jesse comes over and they work on the car. Their life is predictable and frankly, boring most of the time. 

This week, though, Dean has the house and little Sammy to himself with his dad's instruction to take good care of both. Dean's nothing if not obedient. 

When Sam returns, he tries to go back to sleep, but Dean plucks him until the kid groans and sits up. 

"I want to show you something," Dean says.

He has Pornhub on the big screen now. More bang for the buck. 

It’s that girlie Brit, Rourke, sashaying across a parking lot. He’s got lingerie under tight jeans and besides little Sammy and his big brother, Dean, this might be the prettiest boy on earth. 

Scratch that. Sam and Dean are hot, but they don’t look like girls. If this Rourke kid grows his hair too long, there’s probably confusion. Even a totally straight guy would find this hot. Dean’s not totally anything, except maybe depraved. 

Sam squints at the screen. Somebody ought to get his eyes checked. 

“Is that… Is… Is he male?”

Dean chuckles and nods.

“Is he wearing women’s underwear?”

“What do you think of that?”

Sam shrugs but doesn’t peel away his eyes. The he-she kid on the screen gestures for the camera to follow.  
If Dean had an hour alone with that kid …

He's rubbing off again with Sam watching Dean's hand and then the screen, and then Dean and back and forth. 

Then the he-man shows up and Sammy’s already wide-eyes pop halfway out of his head. Muscle-bound, tattooed, thick-necked beast of a guy.  
Zilv Gudel. Dean wouldn’t say no to an hour with this dude, either. 

They watch the whole video. Dean waits for Sam’s response. All he gets is doe-eyed blinking. 

“Which one of them is hotter?”

Sam blathers, shaking his head like it’s an answer on a quiz he didn't study for. As if that would ever happen. 

Dean squeezes his thigh. “There’s no wrong answer, man.” 

“They’re both… I don’t know… How old is the younger guy?”

“I don’t know. Maybe 16."

Totally legal in England. It's technically 13 in Japan which would make Sammy fair game over there. 

Dean rubs Sam's leg and asks, "What do you think of that?”

“He looks really young.”

“He does,” Dean says. “That’s part of what makes it so hot.”

When Sam squints this time, it’s not because he can’t see clearly.

“He looks too young,” Dean explains. “A lot of people like that.”

“Do you like it?”

Dean shrugs. Old, young, male, female. He’s never seen a person he couldn’t imagine fucking. “I like a lot of stuff.”

He swipes Sam’s hair from his face and kisses him until the kid is loose and pliant as if his bone are made of jello. Meanwhile, Sam's dick is anvil-hard. 

“I like you, you know?” Dean speaks right onto his lips.

“You do?”

How can Sammy be surprised? And how could anyone not want him, with his big, earnest eyes and his small, pretty mouth? So perfect.

“Can’t you tell?”

Dean pulls Sam’s hand to his crotch. Guides him, shows little brother how to curl his fingers around another man and pleasure him. Dean gives back a soft moan in appreciation. 

“See how good you make me feel?”

Sam nods.

“You want me to do that for you?”

Sam nods again. 

“Good.”

Dean pulls Sam’s shirt over his head like he used to do when the baby needed help. Back then, Dean never leaned down and licked his brother’s nip. When he does it now, Sam’s giggles and shivers. 

“Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Good, Sammy.”

Dean licks both little pebbles. Then latches on to the right and sucks hard. The way Sam whimpers and shudders is amazing. Why did Dean wait? Sam would have been even more supple and expressive a few years ago.

Dean slides his fingertips under the elastic to Sam’s underwear. Without further prompting, the kid lifts his hips and lets big brother slide them off. While he’s down there, Dean tickles feet. Sam squeaks and curls in his toes. So cute.  
God. How did Dean wait?

He extends Sam’s long, skinny leg, lifts and kisses his instep. Sam is studying, face furrowed in concentration. This must seem very odd to him.  
Wait for it, little brother. 

Dean sucks on his big toe watching Sam’s face blossom from disgust to surprise to rapture. He squeezes his eyes shut, mouth falls wide.

“Look at me, Sammy. I want to see your eyes.”

It takes him a moment to comply. He grips the sheet in both fists as Dean sprinkles soft kisses from his ankle up to the back of his knee. When he licks there, Sam jerks away again. 

“Tickles.”

“I know. You have to take it if you want your present.”

Sam squints - skeptical, but no longer trying to escape. Dean licks him again and blows a cool stream of air on the same spot. Sam clutches Dean's arm but doesn’t pull away. 

“Good.”

The next lick travels from behind Sam’s knee, slowly up his soft, downy skin until Dean is nuzzling his tight little sac. 

Dean spreads himself out for this, his body long between Sam’s legs. His face right in Sam’s crotch, breathing in his musk. 

“Dean?”

“It’s all right, buddy.”

This won't hurt a bit.


	7. Chapter 7

First, Dean rips a page from Sam’s book. He takes the little guy’s dick in his hand and studies everything from its slant to the veins and capillaries and the tiny skin tags around the tip. Little known fact: the skin over blood vessels is extra sensitive, but those little tags don’t feel anything. 

Dean begins by laving his tongue up the sides of Sam’s salty rod along the trails where the blood flows. Sam’s back arches like a bow and he gasps. 

“Shhh. It’s okay.”

Dean tightens his thumb and forefinger around the base of Sam’s dick, trapping the blood in his already thickening rod. Panting, Sam rests his hands on his brother’s shoulders. Not pressing or demanding. Just grounding himself. Then he strokes Dean’s hair.  
Dean hums his appreciation for the sweet gesture.

He’d thought of taking his time, teasing Sammy a little, winding him up. But Dean has mercy, if you can call it that. He swallows Sam’s cock in one gulp. The tip tickles his throat, but Dean, being an old pro, adjusts and takes it without a single gag. That trick took years to perfect, but it’s easy as tying his shoes now.

Sam’s fingers tighten on Dean’s shoulders. His legs are shaking, toes digging into Dean’s calves. He puffs out desperate little breaths, whispering Dean’s name like a prayer. Then, he gets real religious.

“Oh my god, Dean. Oh my god, Dean. Ohmygod.” 

“Yeah, baby. I got you.”

Dean had to pull off to say that and he wipes his mouth on Sam’s thigh. In the corner of his eye, that picture of his family stares back. Dean ought to hop up and knock it on its face. 

Instead, he rests his cheek on Sam’s thigh, licking his balls, reveling in the way he shudders and then sucking them and rolling each one around in his mouth. 

It’s that age-old question of how something so good can be wrong. It makes no sense. Nature made humans enjoy sex. Baby boys in their mom’s bellies can have erections. Little kids masturbate. Dean knows all this from internet research.  
So, why is it wrong?

“Dean?”

“Hm?”

“Can we… can you kiss me?”

“Of course.”

Dean smooches Sam’s belly and blows a raspberry beside his navel before climbing to his knees and sucking his little brother’s neck as if it’s candy-laced.  
He doesn’t shove his tongue down Sam’s throat, though. Hates when people kiss like that. He nips his lips softly and slides all ten fingers into Sam’s silky-soft hair.  
Sweet, soft, gentle pecks. A careful lick along the seam of Sam’s lips. A playful exploration of his teeth. Then, Dean kisses him for real. 

Sam’s fists grab Dean’s shirt. He’s whimpering again, sweet little sounds like a kitten crying for its mother’s milk. Dean shifts them both, pulls the sheet over their heads, and pulls Sam close, even though it’s way too hot for that. 

He slips a leg between Sam’s thighs, letting the kid rut and hump while Dean carefully tugs at his bottom lip. Dean couldn’t even count how many times he’s done this. Still, there’s something about Sam’s trust, his eagerness, his fragility that makes it feel almost like the first time.


	8. Chapter 8

It’s a little after 9 AM the next time Cassie writes. The buzzing phone wakes Dean. He looks at her name, sighs, and doesn’t reply. Just can’t with Cassie right now. 

His dad wrote, too. 

DAD - Checking in.

One-handed, Dean types back a thumbs up. His other arm is under Sam’s head, hand numb. He lays the phone back on the bedside table and carefully extricates himself from the bed. 

After a piss and a shower, he stands in the mirror scratching his stomach muscles, watches them flex beneath the lightly freckled skin. His hair looks as dark as Sam’s when it’s wet. He runs a hand over it, flexing his bicep while his arm’s in the position. He licks his lips and flashes a crooked smile.

“Hey.”

Then he shakes his head and scoffs. Amazing anyone ever falls for that.

This time, he lets Sammy sleep as long as he wants. By the time the kid wakes up, it’s nearly noon and all of Dean’s hard work has gone cold. That doesn’t stop Sam from sitting up in the middle of the bed and wolfing down eggs, biscuit, and OJ (fresh, not from concentrate). The kid was never much a bacon fan. Dean helps with that.

“All right. You need a shower.”

Sam sniffs his smelly pit and still has the nerve to ask, “Why?”

“Because you smell like a zoo, man.”

He’s a little musky, but not too bad. Still, for what Dean has in mind next, it’s best to be completely fresh. Ideally, he’d get Sam to starve for a day and douche, but he’ll teach him to do that later.  
Someday, little Sammy will know all the ropes, but it’s better to start casual. Keep it fun and lowkey. 

For such a smart, picky kid, it’s always been like tractor pulling getting Sam to shower. As if by going under the spray for five minutes, he’s going to miss some new scientific development or something. 

“Go.” Dean swats his thigh. 

Sam rolls his eyes, but he hops into action. 

While he’s gone, Dean sets up an arsenal on the bedside table. Then, he kneels down in front of that family photo and looks long and hard at the image of Mary. One thing he knows about religion is that Jesus’ mother had the same name. There’s a joke in there somewhere. 

Sam returns in his navy fleece bathrobe, even though it’s got to be 80 degrees. When their dad gets back, they’re going to have the A/C serviced. Or Dean could call Uncle Jesse to look at it. He’s good with stuff like that. 

Then again, Dean doesn’t really mind the heat, which will come in handy when he’s burning in hell. 

He grabs the ropes to Sam’s robe and gently drags him over to the bed. Satisfied when Sammy is positioned between his open thighs, Dean unwraps him like an early Christmas present. He wraps his arms around his brother and pulls him close, plastering kisses up and down his ribs. 

Sam giggles and then points to the bedside table, “What’s all that?”

The kid never misses anything. He always ruled at that game - Find the Difference in the newspaper. The only thing that has changed in their father’s bedroom is that Dean has placed a few useful items within his reach:

A bottle of water, a couple of Cliff bars, a small vial of almond oil, a smaller bottle of VCR tape cleaner, and a big ass container of KY, a small pink vibrating dildo.

He lets Sam study as if he was at a museum. The kid picks up the dildo first. “What is this for?”

“Lay on your belly,” Dean answers, taking it back. “I’ll show you.


	9. Chapter 9

Sam takes a deep breath, but he obeys without question. His face rests on his folded arms. Eyes close. Dean climbs onto his back and starts with a massage. Technically, he’s sitting on Sam’s ass with his dick at full attention, but Dean focuses on his little brother’s shoulders and neck. He concentrates on giving a spa-worthy rubdown, complete with the sweet-smelling oil.

“How’s that feel?”

Sam responds with a hum. His feet are on their father’s pillow and a tender smile on his face. He might fall back asleep. 

Dean could let him. This could be it. Everything they’ve done up to this point qualifies as puppy play. This is the point of no return. It doesn’t have to go beyond this. 

Who is Dean kidding?  
Certainly not himself. 

He smooths the oil down Sam’s back, massages his sides, and then his taut, supple ass cheeks. He slides his hand sideways down the center like he’s swiping a credit card. Sam tenses, but doesn’t fight. Dean kneads a bit more. The next time he slips in a finger and locates Sam’s pearl.

Using both hands to hold him apart, Dean admires the perfectly pink, deliciously hairless hole. A hot spike of lust pierces the center of his chest.

“Aw, Sam. That’s so pretty.”

If he was an untrained animal, he’d slam right into his brother without any kind of prep. There are barbarians like that. Dean knows better.

He starts with one, smooth lick from north to south. Sam’s head and neck shoot up like he’s been electrocuted.

“What did you—“ He snakes around to peek. “Did you just—“

Dean smirks and sticks out his tongue.

“That’s gross.”

“Did it feel gross?”

Sam blinks. Dean already knows the answer. 

“You want me to stop?”

Sam lays back down, mumbling, “That’s weird, Dean.”

“It’s not weird, buddy. I just want you to feel good.”

Sam doesn’t complain anymore. But he sure as hell does squirm. And whine. So perfect, Dean never wants to stop licking and pawing Sam open further, tasting more of his perfection. Before long, Sam is pushing back for more. 

Dean slaps his ass. “Greedy.”

Sam collapses onto the mattress, humping and groaning. Then comes the begging. “Dean.”

That’s a very good sign. Dean’s not even going to need those poppers. They used to make Dean feel like a jellyfish getting pounded by a sledgehammer. Sam is still growing. Probably best not to dose the baby, if it can be avoided. 

“Dean, please.”

“Please what, honey?” Now, Dean is teasing. Grinning like the devil. “What do you want, baby?”

He knows full well what a guy wants when he’s been tongued and fingered for a half hour. Sam has never had what he wants, so maybe he doesn’t know how to name it. But Dean knows and he won’t let his little brother suffer much longer. 

He slathers Sam’s ass with enough KY to fry a turkey. Then he slaps an equal portion all over his dick. 

“Sammy.”

Dean places a steadying hand at the base of Sam’s back. He’s slippery from the massage so Dean has to hold him firmly. With his other hand, he lines up his cock. 

“Sammy, this is going to hurt, buddy, all right? But just at first. You understand?”

Sam nods although he has no idea. 

“If you need to make a sound, it’s all right. You can let it out. Nobody home but us, right? Do what you need to do. Just trust me, it’ll get better.”

Sam’s fist bunch, his eyes squeeze shut. Bracing for impact.  
Now or never.

Not true.   
This could happen later.   
Or not at all.   
Dean could stop the madness. He could call it off. 

As much care as he’d taken opening and loosening Sam, that hole is still tight as hell. Sam’s cheeks are red and glistening bright with sweat.

Dean’s got the dildo. He could work the little guy looser. He could let the poppers take some of the edge off. 

“Breathe.”

Dean listens for an inhale and drives in the tip of his cock. He gasps and poor Sammy howls. 

At least Dean didn’t lie. He was a hell of a lot smaller than Sam his first time. He’d been warmed up and prepped and it still hurt worse than anything Dean ever felt before or since. That shit had hurt for days. Sammy’s big enough. A little fucking never killed anybody.

Dean stops, collects himself, lets the waves of heat course over him but doesn’t move again until he’s stroked back Sam’s hair, kissed his cheek. He waits until the baby’s sniffling subsides. 

“You all right?”

“No.”

Melodramatic. Dean holds in his chuckle and waits. “You know, you feel amazing.”

Tighter than any hole Dean has ever entered. Sweet and small beneath him. Lightly trembling. Sam feels like Heaven.

“It hurts.”

“I told you it would hurt.”

“I didn’t think you were serious.”

“It won’t be bad for long, Sam. I promise. All right?”

Sam doesn’t nod this time. He clenches, but he doesn’t ask Dean to stop. 

“Relax.”

“Dean.”

“You’re all right, buddy. I’m right here.”

Wouldn’t it be fun to pound the shit out of this little bitch? If it wouldn’t damage Sam, Dean sure as hell would. He dredges up every ounce of restraint in his system to keep from moving faster. Slides in a few centimeters and then out. Moving in stop motion, but enough to drench them both in sweat - Sam from the pain and Dean from the exertion of self-control. 

“Dean?”

“Sammy, I got you.”

Dean wraps an arm around his brother’s chest. The other on his hip, he shifts his angle and drives in from the side. “Oh god, I want to fuck you so bad.”

Sam sobs. “Dean, it hurts.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

The only way to fix that pain is to override it with a different sensation. Dean takes a few steadying breaths, replenishes the lube, and then gradually, picks up the pace. For a few moments, Sam’s mouth is a wide-open silent scream, eyes leaking, fists balled. 

Then, all at once, there’s a shift. Dean feels it from the inside. Sam shudders, his hole slackens as all of his muscles unwind. His gasps become groans.

“Yeah?”

Sam nods. 

“See?”

“Unh.”

Just like that, the kiddo is taking it like a pro. Oh, he’s going to feel it tomorrow. Dean’s got some topical ointment for that. But this, right here, is magic. Under the right conditions, the pain elevates the pleasure into something exquisite. Dean angles for Sam’s prostate aiming to make his first time sing.

Not that Dean’s first time was bad.   
That dick was bigger, for one thing. Dean was younger. And in the end, Dean had been held and cuddled for an hour. He even got a popsicle. 

Sam doesn’t like sweets, but he sure likes taking his big brother’s cock. 

“Dean, oh wow. Oh wow. Oh god.”

Sam’s asshole spasms when he comes. It rips Dean over the edge right behind him. He collapses and lays there on his little brother’s back, both panting like a pair of young Greyhounds, in an afterglow as bright as Dean has ever felt. 

Right up until Sam asks, “Do you do that with Cassie?”

“Shut up, Sam.”


	10. Chapter 10

As Dean is cleaning up, his text alert goes off. It’s Cassie. Again. 

CR - Do you two want to go to the mall?

ME - No

CR - Are you busy?

ME - Yes

She doesn’t write anything for a few minutes.

CR - Did you do it?

Dean doesn’t reply.

CR - Is Sam okay?

ME - What do you think?

If she honestly thinks Dean would do anything to hurt Sam, she’s a stupid bitch. He tosses the phone into the corner. 

Sam looks up from his Clif bar. "Who was that?"

Dean shakes his head, treats himself to the second bar.

“It was Cassie, wasn’t it?”

“Is there a girl at your school, that you like?”

Sam squints. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Because you never talk about it.” 

Sam shrugs. “I don’t really think about it.” 

How is that even possible? “It’s all I thought about at your age.”

“Girls?”

“Sex.”

“With girls?” 

“Sure. And guys. And … fucking animals.” 

Sam’s eyes shoot open. That’s not something Dean shares with everyone. He shrugs and takes another bite from his bar. 

“Did you ever…”

Dean laughs. “No.” 

“But you wanted to?”

“I just thought about it. … And you never do?”

“Not really.” 

What would it be like to go around not thinking about sex? No wonder Sam’s a genius. If Dean’s every waking moment wasn’t occupied with thoughts of the last time and the next time and the what if’s, maybe he’d be a genius, too. 

“What do you think about it now?”

Sam scrunches his face and appears to search the ceiling for the right answer. “Feels good.”

“Does it feel bad, at all?”

“What do you mean?”

Dean hadn’t started thinking about the other side of sex until they started teaching about good touch and bad touch in school. Then there was Cassie and M and … In the last few months, Dean’s been thinking about a lot of things he never questioned. 

“Never mind.”

“Like, do I think it’s wrong to do this with you?” Sam asks, reading Dean’s mind. “I mean, it isn’t hurting anyone. But I guess we’re not supposed to. Dad would probably —”

Dean scoffs and glances at the family picture. 

“But I don’t feel bad about it,” Sam says.

“Then, why’d you cry.?”

“I don’t know. I guess… It was kind of like… I felt like a volcano, kind of. I just couldn’t stop it.”

“If you don’t like something… “ Dean takes Sam’s face between his palms. “You’ll tell me and I’ll stop.”

Sam smiles. “Would you kiss me some more?”

Dean pecks him. “That enough?”

Sam shakes his head. Dean grins and gives him another sweet little kiss. 

“How about that?”

“Not enough.”

So Dean kisses his little brother until his lips buzz and his brain hums and Sam is wrapped around him like a second skin.

“Hey, Dean. What is all that stuff?”


	11. Chapter 11

Dean lines everything up like he used to do his GI Joes for battle. 

“This is water.”

Sam kicks his arm. 

“Seriously, though. Can’t let you get dehydrated.” Dean hands his little brother the bottle. “Those were energy bars.”

“For energy,” Sam says, the snarky little cuss. 

“This is lube, which helps the glide.”

Sam nods. Now it’s getting scientific. 

“You know, with a girl, they produce their own.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty awesome.”

“Is it better?” Sam asks quietly. “Like, does it feel better with Cassie than with me?”

“Would you shut up with that?”

Sam studies his thumbs for a second and then points at the table again. “And what’s that?”

“Can you guess?” Dean hands him the dildo. 

“It’s an artificial penis.”

“Correct.”Dean pretends to push glasses up his nose. 

“What do you do with it?”

“Exactly what you’d do with a real penis.”

Sam frowns and tilts his head. “Are you going to put it inside of me?”

“Do you want me to?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Feel this.”

Dean wraps Sam’s fingers around and turns it on the lowest setting.

“Whoa.”

Dean turns it up to 12 and Sam’s eyes bulge out of the sockets.

“People put that in their butts?!”

“Don’t knock it.”

“I don’t think I want to do that.” Sam cuts it off and tosses it out of Dean’s reach. “What is that stuff?”

The poppers.

“Nothing, Dean says. “We’re not using that.”

“But what is it?”

“It’s a … chemical compound.”

That was the wrong answer. Sam crawls over and swipes up the bottle. “What do you do with tape head cleaner?”

“Nothing, Sam. Give it here.”

Sam crawls away, keeping the bottle out of reach until Dean pins him on his back. Then Sam drops it on the floor, cackling.

“You little… Just for that.”

Dean threatens, as if he didn’t already have this planned.


	12. Chapter 12

Sam's on his back, skinny thighs spread. It’s a perfect fit tucked between them. A slight wiggle of his hips and a small adjustment to Sam’s position and Dean is slotted right where he wants to be. To give himself even better access, he slings Sam’s legs behind his back. 

Sam’s still slick from the first time. Still gaping. Probably still raw. 

“You want it again, baby?”

“If you want.”

That’s not exactly begging for it, but Sam’s not running away either.  
He holds his breath as Dean slides into the hilt, an arm around his brother, supporting his neck. The other hand is stroking the hair back from Sam’s pinched face. 

“It’s okay. You’re all right.”

Sam nods. Dean kisses him.  
Ought to stop. It’s too much. 

But there’s not enough money in the world to make Dean pull out now. If Sam doesn’t ask him to stop, Dean might never stop fucking him. But he also licks Sam’s neck, nibbles his earlobe, tries to help him relax. 

Missionary is the hardest position - at least for Dean. The most vulnerable position. Laying there, on your back, presented like a meal.  
Not sure if he loves or hates it.  
Not sure whether Sam is enjoying or suffering. 

“Sammy?”

“Hm?”

“You good?”

“Mmhm.”

“You like it?”

“Mmm.”

That’s not an answer. Sam grunts and takes it. 

Dean kisses him. Slow and deep, the same way he fucks him. Sam's inhibitions will unravel when he gives himself over to the sensations rather than whatever’s playing in his head. 

When Dean bottoms in missionary, he always thinks that he doesn’t want to be a bitch. That he’d rather die. That he wants to crawl into a hole and hide forever. On top and inside of Sam right now, he only wants to keep his little brother safe and warm and happy forever. 

“Sammy.”

“Hm?”

Winchesters don’t say I love you. Dean thinks it at him - hard. 

“You feel amazing.”

Sam looks like an angel. Sounds like a whore. He’s completely perfect.


	13. Chapter 13

Sam rolls away on his side. Dean traces shapes onto his back. Kisses his shoulder. 

“You mad?”

Sam shaking his head is not exactly convincing

“Did I hurt you?”

Another head shake.

“Can you talk to me, Sammy? I need to know what’s going on in your head.”

After a moment, Sam rolls over and shows the upset on his face. “I don’t think I’m supposed to feel this way about you.” 

“Like what?”

“Like… I want to marry you.” 

Dean almost bursts out laughing.  
But Sam is dead serious with a tear trickling down his cheek onto the pillow. 

“Hey, I don’t think it’s legal for brothers to get married yet.”

Since when did a little thing like the law stop a Winchester with a good idea?

Dean adds, “Listen, how about we discuss that again when we’re both a little older.” 

“You’re going to marry someone else. I already know it,” Sam says. “Cassie or somebody. You’re going to have a bunch of kids and be a really good dad and I’m going to be like Uncle Jesse, never marry anybody and live alone and be this weirdo guy who hangs around your family.” 

“Wait a minute. That’s how you see Uncle Jesse?”

“I don’t know,” Sam cringes. “Are you going to tell him?”

“No. Of course not.”

“I think he hangs around because he wants to be dad, but he’s not anywhere near as cool or good looking or anything. He’s just like this… pitiful wannabe.”

Wow. Sam’s right. Their dad is cooler and better looking than his little brother, but Uncle Jesse is single and care-free and clever and the two of them are thick as thieves, like Dean and Sam. Interesting to hear his little brother’s perspective and that it’s so different. 

“Sam, what if I tell you I’m not going to marry anyone?” Dean offers. “Would that be good?”

Sam shrugs. “Would you live with me? Never leave?”

“Maybe. Okay? Let’s see how it goes.”

Sam raises a brow, skeptical, not satisfied. 

Across the room, his phone sounds. 

“Is that Cassie?”

“I don’t know buddy. I can’t see it across the room.” 

Sam bounces up to get it and reads the message out loud: “God loves you no matter what?”

Dean knows without seeing who that’s from.

“Who is M?”

“Hand it here.”

Instead, Sam snaps a pic of Dean in all his naked glory. 

“Hey, knock it off, Sam. Give it here.”

Sam takes another picture and runs away. When Dean finally tackles the kid they’re both on the floor at the foot of the bed. Sam straddles Dean’s lap, kisses him, and snaps a photo of that. 

He looks at his handiwork and smiles.


	14. Chapter 14

Dean takes the phone from his hand, places it on the bed behind his head. He urges Sam onto his knees straddling his dick and holds himself in place as Sam lowers slowly, face scrunched in pain or concentration - or both. Hell, Dean is chafed from all the attention and Sam’s tight little hole and using cum as lube. No telling what kind of agony Sam is in. 

There’s no way he’s not sore. A marathon like this is hard on even the most veteran a-hole. Speaking of an a-hole, Dean is letting this happen. He should be letting his brother rest, for days. 

To Dean's ounce of credit, he lets Sam steer. Tight, tiny little micro-movements that probably burn like a Zippo. Dean holds Sam’s waist but doesn’t urge him any faster or deeper. It’s the closest he can come to selflessness. 

His eyes are closed, arms rested on Dean’s shoulders. Slender body covered in a sheen of sweat. Barely moving. Hardly breathing. Soon, Dean will teach him how to bounce. How to be a good little cowgirl. But not right now. 

“You’re so beautiful, Sam.”

The words slip through and surprise them both. Dean pulls him close enough for Sam's heaving chest and his bird-quick heart to beat against Dean's face. They remain that way for a while. Still and connected and complete. 

“I love you.”  
Sam says it. 

Dean shouldn’t. Not right now. He shouldn’t say that while he’s inside of Sam. Shouldn't confuse the kid any more than he's already done. His brother wants to marry him, for fucks sake. 

And Dean says that, he's going to be the cause of decades of unsuccessful therapy. 

That is not what this is supposed to be. 

But if he doesn’t say it, he’s a damn liar.

“I love you too, Sammy”


	15. Chapter 15

They fall asleep like that - not because it’s comfortable or smart, but because Dean hasn’t slept in nearly two days and because Sam is exhausted from his new pastime - at the foot of the bed, with Dean’s dick lodged up his brother’s until-recently-virgin hole. Sam facing Dean with his cheek on his brother’s shoulder.

They only wake up because of Dean’s phone buzzing. Sam stirs, reaches over Dean’s head, and retrieves it from the bed. 

“Dad,” he announces without moving away. 

With his half-limp cock inside of Sam, Dean answers the phone. “Hey, Dad.”

“How’s it going, son?”

“Good.”

“Let me talk to Sam.”

“Um, okay.”

Sam is a notoriously poor liar. Dean could have said that Sam was asleep and gotten away with it. If Sam tries to lie, he’ll spill the last two days in vivid detail. He takes the phone and squeaks, “Hi.”

Dean clicks onto speakerphone. 

“Your brother taking good care of you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” John says. “You two been working out.”

“It’s been raining.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

Dean takes the phone interjects. “We’re getting some exercise.”

Sam covers his mouth with both hands, shoulders shaking as he titters. 

“Well, good. You two behave.”

“We are, Dad.”

“All right, then. See you Sunday night.”

Dean hangs up and stares at the phone for a full minute.

“Stay here. Get in bed. Don’t move.”

Sam crawls up, Dean goes to his bedroom. He drapes a pair of underwear over his zombie bobblehead and dresses. He dumps the contents of his backpack on the bed and packs quickly. The bare basics.  
He dashes to Sam’s room. Packs socks, underwear. Grabs a random book from his shelf, one he hasn’t read thirty times. He brings a pair of jeans and a t-shirt for Sam.

While Sam dresses, Dean knocks the family photo on the floor. “No questions. Let’s go.”


	16. Chapter 16

Sam skulks behind Dean like a shadow. They slip out of their side door, onto their bikes into the dark. Four streets over, Cassie Robinson, Dean’s freaking hero, is waiting at her back door. 

“Plan B,” Dean says. 

She stands on her tiptoes to hug him. “Thank goodness.”

Sam tugs the back of Dean’s shirt. “Tell her.”

Cassie steps back and flashes her usual smile for Sam. “Hey. How are you, sweetie?”

Sam hooks his arm around his brother’s. “Dean’s my boyfriend now. We’re running from my dad so we can be together.”

If Dean had a gag .. or better yet a tongue removal kit. 

Cassie’s eyes burn a hole through his face. “You didn’t tell him?”

“How could I tell him?” Dean counters. “You tell him.”

She sad smiles and tries to hug Sam, but he moves away. “Tell me what?”

“Dean will tell you. Won’t you?”

“When it’s the right time, yes. Okay?”

Sam frowns and shrugs away when Dean places a hand on his shoulder. 

“Sam, I will tell you.”

Even if it doesn’t happen until they’re both in their 30s. 

Cassie hands Dean the keys to her father’s Porsche and they swap telephones. “You two don’t get killed.”

Dean nods. Trying to thank her with words would fail epically. 

“Hey,” Cassie says. “You’re doing the right thing.”

“I know you think that,” Dean replies. “It was your stupid idea.”

She laughs and Dean kisses her while Sam punches him in the liver.

“Be safe, idiot.” 

They’re pulling out of the driveway with the lights off, low gearing it down the street, and Sam’s bitchy little arms are folded. “You still love her?”

“Sam. She’s helping me steal a car. Of course, I love her.”

Sam turns to the window. It might be a good thing if he never speaks to Dean again.

“Look, she… I can’t explain Cassie. She’s… Listen, forget her, okay? You need to memorize this number. If you and me get split up, you call and meet me wherever the person on the other end tells you to go.”

“Why would we get split up?”

“Can you listen to me? (310) 424-7873. Say it back to me.”

Sam memorizes the number in two goes because he’s brainy like that. Dean should have had him devise the plan because Dean is flying blind. Even with Cassie’s help and the cash he’s been saving in case he sprouted the balls to do this.

“And you don’t say we’re boyfriends to anyone else, got it?”

“Are you embarrassed to be gay?”

“Sam, shut the fuck up.”


	17. Chapter 17

The longest Dean has driven before this was 20 minutes. He’s been behind the wheel for 6 hours now and he’s not sure whether he’s hallucinating or the world is really shifting into technicolor as the sun rises.

“What the hell is with those?”

Sam had insisted they go back into the house for something before they left for Cassie’s. Now, he’s been wearing these stupid thick black glasses. Dean reaches to snatch them off and Sam bats his hand away.

“I found them. Dad said they belonged to mom.”

It’s almost certainly a damn lie, but Dean doesn’t argue anymore. Let the kid have whatever security blanket helps him sleep at night.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” Sam asks for the thirtieth time.

Due west.

Dean doesn’t answer. Needs more coffee.

“Dean?”

No. Dean is not going to tell Sam anything, because Sam is the voice of reason. He’s the person who’d tell Dean to call the police. That this is insanity when Dean already knows that.

Sam grabs Dean's crotch.

“I said knock it off.”

He doesn’t have to see the look on Sammy’s face. It hurts him, too. Like a dagger jutting from the center of his chest.

Sam’s voice comes back small and confused. “Why?”

“Sam, I… I got to concentrate. Okay? I need to… Here.”

He grabs Sam's hand and holds it - like a grownup shuffling a kid around a supermarket.

“Okay?”

Sam yanks away.

Good.

Now, maybe Dean can focus on the road, on what he’s doing. On where he’s going.


	18. Chapter 18

They fill the tank once, but abandon the car the next time it runs empty. Mr. Robinson will have called it in missing by now.

"Dean, where are we going?"

"Shut up."

"But when--"

“I mean it.”

“My butt hurts.”

Dean holds a warning finger in his brother’s face.“Not another fucking word.”

They hitchhike two States over and one south. Outside of Denver, Dean lets a too-talkative lady driver drop them at a gas station. They walk the two miles through the rain to the nearest motel. The rooms with one queen bed cost $20 less than the doubles. Dean books that and hunkers down to sleep in the steel folding chair.

“You’re not going to—“

If Dean is doing this, he’s doing it. He folds his arms and turns away. It’s after 11 PM and they’re going to get kicked out of here at 10 in the morning.

“Dean?” Sam sits up in the middle of the bed. “Come closer.”

“I thought you said your butt hurts.”

“I don’t want… I just want you to hold me.”

“Go to sleep, Sam. You’re not a little baby.”

Dean is being an asshole. He knows it and he knows no way around it.

There’s a fresh text from Cassie:

CR - Your dad was here

They both knew that was coming.

ME - What did you tell him?

CR - Just like we planned.

That we swap phones for fun.

That you and Sam are going to Ocean City.

That I’ll tell him if I hear from you.

ME - Cool. Keep me posted

CR - He was pretty pissed.

ME - I bet.

CR - He asked my folks to trace my phone.

Having Cassie’s phone saved Dean a little time. It was her genius idea they swap.

ME - Figured he would. Thanks, Cass.

CR - Be careful

Nothing else to write after that. The question is whether to leave Cassie’s phone in this motel, toss it in a dumpster and somehow try to navigate the world without one. Dean hasn’t survived a single day without a phone since he was younger than Sam’s. The idea is almost scarier than being caught by their dad.

Almost.

Sam slinks over, slick as a salamander. He’s still wearing those stupid glasses. He kneels in front of the chair where Dean is sitting and peels the cell phone from his hands. Sam places Dean’s palm on his face and leans into it.

“Let me help you relax.”

He palms Dean’s crotch until there’s nothing to be done. Dean can’t control nature. There’s a hand and a mouth playing with the fabric over his rapidly hardening dick. It just. Happens to be Sammy’s hand and mouth because Dean taught him out to do this stuff. Dean’s fault. Dean’s monster. Might as well just accept that. ****

Poor Sam licks his lips like he’s salivating for it. Dean cups his chin.

“Sam. It’s not right.”

“Don’t say that. Yes, it is. I love you.”

Those words again. Is that going to become Dean’s kryptonite? Sam says a three-word phrase and Dean is powerless to stop the kid from peeling open his pants and going down like a starving whore.

Dean taught Sammy what he’s doing and the kid is one hell of a fast learner. But the glasses are too stupid. Dean tries to remove them but Sam leans away, still holding Dean’s dick.

“Fine. Whatever.”

Sam goes back to his task, finishing Dean off in record time with a tandem approach he must have figured out on his own - head bobbing for a few seconds and then jacking the rod for a few seconds. It’s fucking amazing and Dean curls his fist in Sam’s hair as he dribbles over his brother’s fingers. Thighs trembling, Orgasm rushing through him in a swift blast.

“Shit, Sam.”

Just as quickly, regret falls on Dean’s head like a ton of lumber. But even with that heavy feeling weighing on him, Dean sits with his mouth hanging open as Sam holds the sized fingers to the tip of his tongue. With his eyes, he asks the question Dean doesn’t have the decency to answer any other way.

“Yeah, baby.”

Sam turns up his nose a little, but licks it. Then he stuffs his greedy little fingers into his mouth and sucks as if they were covered in whipped cream instead of his brother’s baby sauce.

Sam swallows and then looks up, his round eyes look deep, chocalately brown in this light. “Was that good?” ****

"Where the hell did you learn that?"

"That kid, the British one. Remember?"

Of course, Dean remembers. It was only three days ago that he filled his brother's beautiful mind with images of some underaged looking kid eating a grown man's cum. A special corner of Hell.

“Go to sleep, Sam.”


	19. Chapter 19

On the bus, Sam pulls Dean’s arm around him and snuggles close. It’s brotherly enough and Dean doesn’t have the heart to push him away. Across the aisle and one seat up, an old lady smiles and winks at them. 

“Listen, when we get there, you got to chill with all this,” Dean tells his brother without confidence that the kid can follow the instruction. 

After buying these tickets, Dean’s got $12 left. Enough for a couple of sandwiches. After that, whatever happens is out of his hands. They call this kind of thing a leap of faith. Either they take off or somebody catches them. 

“And look, don’t freak out,” Dean says.

Sam’s going to freak out. Dean sure as hell lost his shit. There’s not any warning for what Sam’s about to encounter. He has to see it for himself.  
Then everything will be okay.


	20. Chapter 20

As they’re walking down the street toward a big ass church, Dean starts a talk he’s been meaning to have with his baby brother. 

“Look, Sam. There’s all kinds of fucked up weird shit going on in the world that you don’t know about.”

“Like what?”

“Like… If I was to tell you, you’d be all… Just, you have to trust me.”

“I do. I do trust you." 

Sam tries to take his hand.  
Dean pulls away. “I told you to stop that.”

First of all, M is religious. Second, M knows better than anybody that Sam and Dean are brothers. Third, it’s time to stop the madness, for Sam’s own sake.  
Dean will be fine. He doesn’t need Sam. Doesn’t need anybody.

He’s 17 years old. Practically a man. Doesn’t need this to turn out the way he’d hoped. But when he double-checks the address against the note he scribbled on a square of toilet paper before throwing away Cassie’s phone to keep his dad off their trail, his face slides three inches south. 

They’re standing next door to a small church, at building that kind of looks like a house, except there’s a sign House of Ruth: Hope Starts Here

In the fine print, he learns that this place offers housing, education, support, and therapy for women with substance abuse and mental health issues.  
And that’s all fine and super, except that’s not what he’s looking for. 

“Dean?”

Dean doesn’t respond. He stands there reading and rereading the sign until someone comes to the door, buzzes it open, and sticks out their head. 

“Can I help you?”

“We, uh… No. I don’t think so.” Dean doesn’t usually stutter. Right now, he’s happy to be able to speak at all.

“Are you looking for someone?”

Dean shakes his head at first and then spits it out. “Mary Campbell?”


	21. Chapter 21

“Mary. Yeah,” the woman behind the door smiles. She has a huge bosom, a big round belly, and a massive gap between her front teeth. “I thought you looked familiar. She shows your pictures here sometimes. Devin?”

“Dean.”

“And Sam. Right. Your mom’s really proud of you.”

When Sam grabs Dean’s hand, he doesn’t pull away. Maybe Sam holding his hand will keep him from sinking into the concrete. Everything’s feeling like quicksand right now. Closing in. Suffocating.

“You’re her boys, right?”

Dean shakes his head. 

“You sure? I could’ve sworn… You know, Mary hasn’t shown up here in a while. She does that sometimes. Comes in for services and then disappears for months. You could try over at Sacred Heart, though. Your mom, she’s got, a little bit of a journey ahead of her, but she’s getting there.”

Dean’s nostrils are flaring. This was supposed to be her house. It was supposed to be a haven. A normal place where he could bring Sam and know he’d be taken care of. A chance to get to know his mom. A good, clean, wholesome life.

She’d written in the text messages a dozen times - You boys should come and stay with me. 

What? In a shelter? Is she fucking crazy?

“Do you want to…” The lady is starting to look worried. “Leave her a message or … Do you boys need help?”

Backing away, Dean keeps shaking his head, as if enough denial will make this debacle untrue.  
Erase this whole day. 

Dean’s mother is dead. Mary Campbell Winchester is in the ground. The freak who’s been texting him is a psychotic imposter. She’s a psycho crackhead who happened to be the spitting image of the woman in Dean’s family pictures. 

“No. Thank you,” he says. “We’re fine.”

Three streets over, he stops walking long enough to let the cold rush wash over him. If he sits down on a bench to collect his thoughts or consider his next steps or any of that, he might never stand up again.


	22. Chapter 22

“Should we call Dad?”

Sam is only asking that question because he doesn’t know better. 

Sweet, clueless little Sam. Wearing those dumb glasses somebody told him belonged to their mother. How is he not freaking out right now?

“How are you—“ Dean takes a moment to be sure he’s not going to start hyperventilating. “Do you understand what just happened?”

Sam sighs and shrugs. “I guess, you thought, we were going to our mother. And she… It isn’t what you expected. I mean, if this is her, she’s not… a person we want to associate with. Have you ever considered that if she’s alive, she left us? She didn’t want kids, or wasn’t good with them or… had some kind of problems... I’m just saying, we might be better off without her.”

Sometimes Dean hates Sam’s fucking IQ so much he could stomp his brainy little brother into the pavement and piss in the puddle.

“How are you—“

“I figured… I just… when I saw the text from M, I just kind of deducted—“

“You deducted?” Yeah, people who use the word deducted in normal conversation should be impaled on a sharp stick. 

”I don’t know if you noticed,” Sam says carefully, watching the traffic signal. “But you’ve been acting strange lately. And usually, when you get like this, it’s about Mom.”

“What?”

The light turns but Dean doesn’t cross. Sam takes the first step and then scrambles back to stay at his brother’s side.

“I mean, just, sometimes.”

“Sam, this has never…” Dean shoves his hands into his pockets to soothe their urge to strangle. “Nothing like this has ever happened before.”

“Not exactly like this. But do you remember a couple of years ago, you want to go to Siver’s Park every single day because you thought you saw mom there? And do you remember the time—”

“Shut up.”

Sam never had their mom - only for 7 months - and he didn’t miss her. He was like a robot. All he cared about was school and learning and calculations and sometimes, like right now, Dean wanted to saw the top off of Sam’s skull and take a dump inside. 

Some people have UFO sightings. All his life, Dean has seen his mother. Just a handful of times, but enough to know he wasn’t making it up. 

This was different. This was confirmation that she’s alive. Proof that he’s not crazy.  
And an explanation for why he is.


	23. Chapter 23

County Lacrosse champions, three years in a row, with captain Dean Winchester at the head of the team. It’s his senior year and he plans to lead his boys to the State finals. 

It’s not lacrosse season, but Dean was on the field, running laps like he did every day after school. Tasty little cheerleaders waving back at him. Dean has been under more than half of those skirts, but flirting is always entertaining. He nods to the football players doing their drills. He’s fucked a few of them, too. 

As he rounded the lap, in the corner of his eye, he noticed a blonde watching but didn’t take much notice. Then, as he rounded the track, he got a good solid look at her and stopped cold in the middle of the lane. 

She raised a single hand and smiled. A guy jogged by on Dean’s left.

He’d seen her at least 3 other times over the years. The first time, he told his father. John had hugged him and told him it was okay to miss his mom, and that a lot of people saw ghosts of loved ones. After that, Dean stuck to confiding in Sam and dragging him back to the spots where he’d had the sighting. She was never there when he went back.

Still winded, Dean walked slowly to the steel fence and came to a halt two feet away from his mother. Mary Campbell in the drawn and dry flesh, wheat-colored hair frizzy, a strange coffee and shampoo scent blowing off her. 

“Hello, Dean.”

He didn’t reply. Do ghosts usually have a smell?

“Do you know who I am?”

Dean blinked and didn’t try to speak. 

“Listen, I can’t… can’t be here long. But I want you to have this.” She offered something in her hand.

Dean stared at it for a moment, certain that if he reached out, she’d vanish. She tossed a balled-up piece of paper over the fence. It fell in the grass between his sneakers. 

She smiled again and said, “You’ve gotten very handsome.”

Then the ghost of Dean’s mother walked away across the parking lot, crossed the street, continued up the road, and disappeared around the corner. Dean remained frozen for a few moments and then crawled under the bleachers. He sat there, cross-legged like a kindergartner on an ABC rug.

“Is this yours?”

It was a girl’s voice, but not his mother’s. God, Dean had forgotten what his mother’s voice sounded like. He’d forgotten the exact seafoam blue color of her eyes. He never would again. 

“Are you okay?”

It wasn’t her voice. She hadn’t come back. It wasn’t his mother’s shadow he was sitting in. Leather boots. Jeans, a button-up shirt, and the last face on earth he wanted to see. 

Cassie Robinson.

Dean had not been between those thin-thighs.  
She’s hot as fuck, but also a know-it-all, bossy bitch. And a worse nerd than Sam. Queen of the yearbook and the newspaper who only ever came to games to write about them. 

Why couldn’t it have been a cheerleader or some girl who was always nice to Dean? Before that moment, Dean would have rather pissed in Cassie Robinson’s reusable water bottle than talk to her.

“Dean?”

He bit his lower lip to keep it from trembling and shook his head. 

“Who was that lady?”

If she hadn’t asked that question, maybe Dean would have held it together. If she had just walked away and minded her own damn business. But Cassie asked and Dean lost it. The tears flowed as if someone had busted a dam behind his eyes. 

Cassie fell to her knees, stroked his back, and held him for the hundred years until he was dehydrated, his face marinating in a puddle of tears on this girl’s flat chest. 

When Dean finally pulled it together, he looked up into deep brown eyes and nodded. She hadn’t asked anything. It was all the thanks he could muster.

“Is this yours?”

It was the paper Mary had thrown. Dean shoved it into his pocket without looking.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He wanted to tell Cassie to go fuck herself. He wanted to stand up and laugh it off. Say it was all a practical joke and Cassie was a sucker for falling for it. Dean had just enough energy to choke out a whisper between sniffles, “I think … she was my mother…. Except my mother died in a fire when I was 4.”

“That’s what I heard.”

Of course, she’d heard it. A lot of people know things about Dean. Or at least they think they do. He’s hot, funny, sporty, popular. His grades suck, but he's charming as shit. Everybody loves Dean Winchester.  
But only because nobody fucking knows him.


	24. Chapter 24

“Should we call Dad?” Sam asked again. 

They’re out of money. Dean had planned and saved precisely what they would need to get them here. His and Cassie’s brilliant escape plan is a complete bust. He’s standing on the sidewalk in San Diego covering his mouth with a hand to keep back the scream.

“I think we should—“

“Shut up.”

When Dean starts walking again, it’s not toward anything. Not even away from anything. He’s just walking with Sam trailing behind him. 

A few hours later, when Sam says he’s hungry, Dean buys him a sandwich. Then, they walk some more. 

“Dean, can we—“ 

“No. I’ll figure it out.”

When Sam starts tossing pieces of his bread to the skyrats, Dean doesn’t tell him that they have six dollars left. 

They wander through the city streets as the sun slowly sets. By the time it’s dark, Dean has a plan. He steps inside of a 24-hour truck stop and buys his little brother a strawberry milkshake. 

“You stay here. You don’t go piss. You don’t move. Got it?”

Slurping, Sam nods. 

Dean steels his nerves with a few deep breaths and scans the restaurant area. It’s got to be a guy. In his life, only two women have ever paid for it. Men are a safer bet.  
The guys who fuck him are usually middle-aged or older, soft-spoken, cleanly, educated. At least those are the ones who’ve passed muster. 

When a guy meets his eye and nods a greeting, Dean starts to walk toward him. Then, the guy returns to his newspaper, and Dean freezes. Not quite the right type.  
He searches for another mark. 

The next candidate he finds appears kind of dirty, but maybe that’s a good thing. After all, this isn’t a scene. It’s not a cultivated, curated, controlled environment like where Dean usually entertains.

The guy looks Dean up and down and doesn’t stop looking. He’s practically boring a hole through Dean’s face. That’s a good sign. 

Dean clears his throat and slides into the booth across from the man. Not knowing what else to do with his hands, he opens a paper packet of sugar. 

The guy furrows his brow and asks, “Do I know you?”

“Do you want to?”

Okay, so Dean has no freaking idea what he’s doing. Everyone he’s ever fucked has paid for the privilege - with a few exceptions, of course.

This is not the same as that. This is not asking out a cheerleader. This is not something Dean has ever done.  
All he knows is that all kinds of people want him and he has to cash in on that.  
For Sam. 

Dean also knows it’s bullshit.  
Cassie’s right. Being a fuck toy is humiliating.  
He’d never really thought of it that way before. Just like he’d never thought about good touch, bad touch until the counselor at school gave that assembly when he was in third grade. 

Not that touching is bad. And fucking’s not bad.  
But maybe, Dean doesn’t want to fuck strangers or his brother.  
Maybe he does.  
The only thing he’s sure of is that he’s done with being a whore.  
Right after he gets enough money to feed his brother and get a hotel for a couple of nights so Dean can clear his mind and figure out the next steps. 

He’ll suck one or two dicks. That’s it. 

“Mister, I’d do just about anything for fifty bucks.”

The guy chuckles and asks out of the side of his mouth, “Is that right?”

He dribbles chaw into his coffee cup and Dean chokes back vomit. 

He doesn’t have to kiss the guy. Just go down. Maybe bend over. Hopefully, this fucker showered sometime within the last 48 hours. 

It doesn’t matter. Sam is starting to look sleepy. Dean has enough money left to buy him French fries. 

“All right then.”

The guy throws his napkin on a plate of liver and onions that Sam would very happily scarf down. But things aren’t that desperate yet. Dean’s not going to let it get that bad. 

He walks behind the man, out of the restaurant, through the convenience store area, under the bell that rings whenever someone opens the door, around back, past the bathrooms, between the dumpsters.

Where the man shoves Dean against the brick wall. Hard.

Some guys like the rough stuff. Okay. Dean braces himself for a little tumble. Nothing he hasn’t experienced before. He takes another shove and then a fist flies like a rocket. It slams against his temple and knocks him sideways off his feet. 

“I’m not giving you any money you little faggot.”

Among the things Dad and Uncle Jesse have taught Dean, fighting was not foremost. You’d think a couple of military dudes would equip their son/nephew with more than a little wrestling. But in this department, they’ve left Dean sorely lacking. 

The best he can do is stay down and cover his head while this ape kicks and spits on him. The guy opens his fly and is mid-stream of pissing hot and stinky on Dean’s head when Sam shouts,

“Hey!”

Dean would have stayed down if his idiot little brother wasn’t running into the fray. The guy pushing Sam onto his ass gives Dean time to stand on wobbly legs.

“This is your little fairy boyfriend, isn’t it?”

The guy spins away from Dean and closes in on Sam. The little guy crab walks backward on his ass. Dean leaps onto the asshole’s back and the guy jumps back against the brick wall, knocking all the air from Dean’s lungs. 

The last thing he hears before the world turns black is Sammy shouting out, “DAD!”


	25. Chapter 25

Even before Dean bats his eyes open, the whole world is pain. His face hurts. His hands hurt. Breathing is agony but he can only pause between inhales so long before that hurts and he has to gasp in a fresh breath.

The moment he stirs, his bedroom door opens. His father enters with Uncle Jesse behind him. They don’t bother to close the door. 

Uncle Jesse asks, “How are you feeling?”

But Dean’s dad launches right in with, “What the hell were you thinking?”

Dean’s chest is bandaged all the way around. Probably a few fractured ribs in there. Maybe a punctured lung. Might belong at the hospital.  
But his first question is:

“Where’s Sam?”

“He’s fine, no thanks to you.”

Dean looks away. It hurts his neck to turn. 

“Do you have any idea what could have happened? Seriously, Dean. What was that stunt?” His dad’s hand lands on his arm, squeezing but then lightening to a gentle massage. “Son, if there was a problem, you don’t think you could have talked to me or Uncle Jess?”

“I did what you told me to do,” Dean answers softly without meeting his father’s eyes. 

“We know. You did a beautiful job. Your approval is higher than its ever been. Household subscriptions are up 200%.”

Uncle Jesse adds, “People loved your little… excursion. Your dad and I didn't think it was very funny.”

“They like you shaking things up. But you have to fucking think.” John plucks Dean’s head.

“And the love story,” Jesse says dropping a hand on his brother’s shoulder. He’s a slightly smaller, vaguely less attractive, otherwise spitting image of John Winchester. If a big brother could have spit out a clone and made it follow him around, that’s what Jesse would be. Only he wears a full beard in winter and John is always clean-shaven. “Sam’s fucking adorable with his wanting to marry you.”

“Did he just adlib that?” John squeezes Jesse’s hand and then drops it. “Or did you tell him to say that?”

“No, no way,” Jesse says. “That’s all Sam. He’s… They’re falling in love with him. I told you they would.”

“You both were wonderful,” John wipes Dean’s hair from his clammy forehead. “But you’ve got to make better decisions, or at least clear them with us first. If your uncle hadn’t been trailing, who knows what would have happened?”

“Dad, can we turn off the cameras?”

“Son, you know better.”

The cameras never go off. Not while they sleep. Not while they shower, or shit. Certainly not while Dean was popping his little brother’s cherry and not while Dean was trying to escape this madhouse.

Sam knocks on the doorframe. He’s still wearing the ridiculous glasses. Both John and Jesse turn to the door. Dean closes his eyes to shut him out. He failed his little brother. 

Welcome to the madhouse, Sammy.

John claps the kid on the shoulder and shuts the door as they leave. Sam sits on Dean’s bed smelling all freshly washed and warm.

“Hey.”

Dean opens his eyes and even though it hurts like hell to raise his arm, he hurls the cup of water on his bedside table at his bobblehead. His aim misses by a few miles. “Can you kill that thing?”

Sam switches lanes. “I brought you a donut.”

“Sam, come here.”

Sam obeys and bends closer still when his big brother beckons. He puts his iPad on Dean's bedside table.

“As soon as I’m better,” Dean whispers. “We got to get out of here.”

“Just relax.” Sam brushes his fingers over the abrasions on Dean’s face. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I need you to bring me a phone.”

“Can't." Sam looks sorry. "Dad said no electronics for you until you prove trustworthy.”

“Fine.” Should have seen that coming. “Go over to Cassie’s—“

“You’re not allowed to talk to Cassie anymore.”

“What the hell?” Dean immediately regrets raising his voice. The exertion worsens the pain. “What the hell? Since when do you do whatever he tells you without questioning it?”

Sam shrugs. “You did kind of run away and put us both in a bunch of danger, so…”

“I was trying to protect you.” 

“You said you loved me.”

“Of course, I love you. What are you talking about?”

“I thought you wanted to be with me.” Sam lowers his face and sighs. 

“Sammy. You don’t understand.”

“I do.” Sam sits on the side of Dean’s bed and licks the donut residue from his fingertips. Then he curls his nose. “Too sweet.”

“Listen—“

“I don’t even care. I love you and I want you, no matter what.”

“Sam.” There’s no easy way to say this. Dean has got to spit it out before the acid truth shrivels his tongue. “The stuff we did before, it was…”

“I know," Sam says. "Dad told me everything.”

Dean's mind spirals around all the possible 'everything' their dad could have told Sam as his little brother carefully slides into bed with him. Careful or not, every little movement hurts Dean's chest. 

“He showed me our channel,” Sam explains. “The family business.”

At that, Dean falls silent. 

“Yeah. Before he ‘went on vacation,’” Sam says the last bit with stupid finger quotes. "He told me to do everything you said. And if we left the house, even to go to the mall, that I should wear these glasses and tell you they were mom’s so you wouldn’t make me take them off. And when we got home, he told me… Well, he showed me about you.”

At that, Sam punched around on the tablet until he found their website: TheHumanShow.com

On the surface, it looks like a blank domain, but for the informed few, there’s a backdoor and a series of passwords that lead to an exclusive view into nearly every room in the Winchester house. Each room has a fee and code. It looks like their father has given Sam the MasterCode.

Dean had been learning the ins and outs of running the channel for the last 2 years. He knows where all the cams are, who all their biggest sponsors are - a few of them he knows in the most intimate, biblical way. Viewers can pay by room or by personality. That they can pay extra to make recommendations and to be alerted about certain events, like Sam’s first time. 

The site is hacker-proofed by three different guys in three countries and that they’ve only had to torch the servers once to avoid FBI detection. 

Dean’s learning the ropes, but he’s never sat around and watched the footage. Especially not the old stuff. Not ever. 

Sam fast forwards through videos of their mother moving in. 

He navigates over to Dean’s feed. Back to the very first video and breezes past the footage of Mary Campbell delivering her firstborn son while Jesse and John take turns shoving a dildo in her mouth. 25x speeding past footage of baby Dean on his dad’s stomach while the old man beats off. Toddler Dean playing with his dad’s massive meat stick. Pre-school Dean taking his first dick (dear old dad’s). Second grade Dean being spit-roasted for the first time (by dad and Uncle Jess)

“I always thought you were his favorite,” Sam says, navigates to his own feed and narrows in on a viewer comment:

\- What if you don’t meddle with the second baby? See if they turn out differently.

That comment had a 96% approval rating. There were over $20,000 in pledges supporting it. 

Dean had never seen that. Had always wondered why Sam remained untouched, but knew better than to question his father. 

Dean tries to suck back the tears while Sam’s eyes grow round watching a video of his big brother getting fisted for his 12th birthday. Dean had also received a shiny new Schwinn that year, courtesy of one of his sponsors.

Sam scrolls to the feed from their father’s room. “Look at this.”

The footage of two of them fucking is pornography gold. Even Dean can see that through his pitiful tears. The ratings and pledges are through the roof. 

The feed ends with Dean battering the family photo to the floor. Sam navigates to his own feed - a view on the back of Dean’s shirt as he’s walking up to Cassie’s house. 

“You?”

The fucking glasses. Dean tries to snatch them off, but Sam swats his hand away and it hurts like all hell. Better to lay perfectly still and stop breathing. Honestly, better to just die. 

Sam puts the tablet back on the table, stands and slides down his sweat pants. 

“What are you doing?”

“Dad said Sinspite237 wants to see me take care of you.”

“Sam.”

“Dad said you’re a world-class bottom, which means you can take almost anything. He said I should just do what you did to me and you’ll be fine.”

When Sam grabs his ankle, Dean kicks, but fighting is too painful. Easier to let Sam pull off his pants. 

"Sammy, stop it."

"I'm going to do good, I promise."

Dean curses and watches helplessly as his little brother lubes up his not-all-that-little dick, folds Dean’s legs to his screaming chest, and fucks into him with no prep at all. 

Dean howls through the entire excruciating ordeal. Mercifully, Sam doesn’t drive in deep and doesn’t last long. When it’s over, Sam collapses beside him, kisses Dean’s sweat-drenched forehead. 

“Was that okay?”

Dean can’t speak. He’s slurping tiny puffs of air, trying to keep from passing out. 

“I’ll do better next time.”

Sam picks up the tablet and lowers his head to his brother’s shoulder. Dean whimpers and trembles through pressure and pain like an elephant standing on his chest. 

Sam squeaks and points at the screen. “Whoa. Look at that!”

He points to SinSpite’s previous comment specifically requesting that Sam fuck his big brother while he’s hurt. The sponsor replied to Sam's fulfillment with a heart and a $2000 bonus. Dozens of views and comments, likes and pledges have popped up in the last five minutes - in response to Sam and Dean’s latest scene.

“This is actually really fun,” Sam says. “Don’t you think?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and letting me know what you think. 
> 
> Technically, this is the end of Part 1  
> When I've got the second part ready, I'll open this story and continue here. Feel free to subscribe, and let me know what you expect or would like to see. If it fits my idea, I'll include it. 
> 
> Take care,  
> D


	26. Part 2: MIND YOUR MANNERS

“Dean, look!”

Sam tries to position the screen so his brother can see. Someone just pledged $2000 to him directly. He covers his mouth and giggles like mad. He is totally putting that money toward Space Camp.

“Dean.”

Dean rolls away to face the wall. He flinches when Sam touches his shoulder. 

“Dean?”

“Fuck off, Sam.” His voice is barely a whisper. “Just leave me the fuck alone.”

Sam blinks at the back of Dean’s head, almost as if his words aren’t in the English lexicon. Never, ever has Dean (or anyone) said anything remotely like that to him. Sam places a single fingertip on his brother’s arm.

“Go away.”

“I’m… I’m sorry. Did I—“

“Get the fuck out of my room!”

If Sam didn’t understand the words, Dean’s shouting is unmistakable. If Dean didn't have two broken ribs, he might strike. He sounds that angry. But Dean is curled on his (good) right side, rolled up like a hedgehog. 

Sam sits on the edge of the bed, waiting for him to say he was just kidding. But his brother is slurping soft wisps of air. Unless…

Oh my god. Dean is crying. 

Sam glances over his shoulder and away again. He freezes. Never wanted to know that could happen. 

He stands and adjusts his pants. Then, he takes his iPad and leaves the room, closing Dean’s door gently behind him. Standing in the hall, he blinks at the wrong side of the door. The side with the biohazard sign. Dean’s room was never off-limits to him. 

Sam’s veins run full of molten lead. When it cools, he won’t be able to move. 

A huge, warm hand falls on the center of his back. 

“Hey, great scene, buddy,” Uncle Jesse says. “Everyone loved it.”

Sam stares up at his face. Why does it feel like nothing makes any sense? Did the world change or is Sam losing his grasp?

“You did a good job, Sam.”

“Dean hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you. He’s just upset.” 

“Yes, he does. He hates me. I can’t live if Dean hates me.” The stinging starts behind his nose and pretty soon Sam’s whole face feels like he’s been standing in a snow storm. 

It’s just a matter of seconds before he'll be bawling his stupid eyes out. But now, he has physical proof that Dean also cries. The world keeps tilting back and forth on its axis. Sam thought he understood life and everything keeps shifting. 

“Listen, everybody knows, your brother can be a jerk sometimes.”

“I think I hurt him.”

Jesse rests both hands on Sam’s shoulders and looks square into his eyes. It’s almost like his uncle is rooting him to the floor, keeping him from floating away. “That’s what people wanted to see. They wanted you to hurt him the way he hurt you.”

“What?” The tears stop and Sam blinks at the stupidity of that statement. “He never hurt me.”

“Well, that’s a matter of interpretation, sweetheart.” Jesse smiles. “I’m sure even Dean feels like he hurt you. He’s probably not even mad at you.”

“Then, why did he yell at me?”

“Come here.”

Uncle Jesse takes Sam’s hand like he’s in pre-school and leads him to the living room. He sits in the armchair and pulls Sam into his lap, which might be cool if he wasn’t 13 freaking years old.

But Sam doesn’t object and he doesn’t hop up. He freezes. One of Uncle Jesse’s huge, hot hands is on the center of his back. The other is riding up and down Sam’s thigh.

“When your dad started this project, I was afraid of how it would change our relationship,” Jesse says softly. “When he married Mary, I thought I was going to die. Do you know what he said to me?”

Sam shakes his head, partly because he doesn’t know the answer, partly because he can’t find the words the word - No - in his rapidly dwindling vocabulary.

“He told me that we’ll always be brothers. No matter what happens with you and Dean, that’ll never change.”

Sam nods. 

Of course, Jesse is right. 

It was his uncle who showed up at that truck stop when Sam called out for his dad. He’d beat the living daylights out of that guy and carried Dean to the car like a little baby, murmuring that everything would be okay. 

Uncle Jesse has always been an extra dad to them. Making pancakes on Sundays. Present at every birthday… helping with homework… playing Battleship when their dad was busy at his desk. 

Never mind that Jesse’s hand was on Sam's ass right now, he would never hurt them. Never. 

“It’s all right, Sam. Dean will come around.”

No sooner have the words parted his lips than the door to Sam’s dad’s office open. He winks at Sam and Jesse on his way through the living room.

“Hey, boys,” he says. “Fresh order up.”

Jesse chuckles. “Let’s watch.”

He navigates his way around the website and points to a recent comment:

\- way 2 go, Sam!!!

“See. People love you.”

When Jesse kisses Sam's cheek, his beard tickles, making him shudder.

There are other comments, too.

\- Dean is so mean

\- John should teach him a lesson. 

There’s a $500 pledge with that last statement.

Jesse grumbles, “Here goes.”

“What’s going to happen?” Sam asks sensing the danger without comprehending it. 

Jesse navigates to a view inside of Dean’s room and turns up the sound. 

“… nicer to your brother.”

“Fuck, Sam.”

Venom snakes through Sam’s skin at hearing his brother's words. 

“What have I told you about the profanity?”

“Just leave me alone, Dad.”

In some families, Dean's insolence would lose him access to the car. When Sam does something stupid, he forfeits allowance for a week.  
Then again, Sam has never seen Dean get in trouble. His dad always promises a punishment later. Has it always been like this? 

Dean screams as their dad rips him from the bed. The frigid lead is coursing through Sam’s bloodstream again. He has to help his brother - explain that it was his fault - even though it was their dad who told Sam to do what he did. He should have known better.

As he tries to launch from Uncle Jesse’s lap, one thick arm closes around Sam’s chest like a steel bar.

“We don’t interrupt each others’ scenes unless it's planned,” Jesse says. “Just sit tight.”

On-screen, Sam’s dad is loosening his belt. “Get up and show me what that pretty mouth is for.”

Dean is laying on his side, on the floor now. John yanks him onto his knees, ignores Dean’s pitiful moaning, and shoves his dick into his mouth. 

If Sam could burst out of this skin, out of Jesse's hold, he’d race to his brother’s rescue. He’d make it stop. The way his father curls his fingers in Dean’s hair and drags his head back and forth as if he's not even a living thing, but some kind of doll. 

Sam whimpers match Dean's moans.

“Shhh.” 

Jesse’s breath scalds Sam’s ear. He stinks like sweat-laced aftershave. His hand isn’t on Sam’s thigh anymore. It’s right between his legs. He’s pulled Sam around so they’re facing the same way - Jesse’s hard cock beneath Sam’s butt. His heavy hand pressing Sam down against it. The other arm holding him still. 

“Please.”

Sam’s not sure what he’s begging for. Or why his tears are streaming. Is it because of what’s happening to Dean or what’s happening to him?

Jesse's panting. On-screen, John is grunting. 

“Fuck him, Johnny,” Jesses whispers into the side of Sam’s neck. 

As if he could hear, Sam’s dad drags Dean to his feet and pushes him over the dresser. Dean shouts but doesn't fight. 

Sam squeezes his eyes shut. “Oh, God.” 

“Yeah, baby. That’s it.” Uncle Jesse squeezes his crotch. 

For some insane reason, Sam’s all warm down there. His chest is fire-hot and if he could become a ball of lava and destroy his uncle and his father and this whole house, that’s what he’d do.

“Look at you,” John says from inside the iPad. “Still gaping and sloppy. Even little Sammy made a little bitch out of you.”

When Sam opens his eyes again, all he can see is his father’s hairy butt pummeling in and out. On closer look, it looks like he has four legs - a slimmer, paler pair in front and a meaty, furry pair. His pants are around his ankles. He’s holding his shirt up with one hand. With the other, he’s captured Dean’s hands at the base of his back.

After an eternity, their father finally steps back, slaps Dean’s behind, and packs himself away. 

“The next time you see Sam, you apologize, got it?”

He leaves the room and Dean stays draped over the dresser with his butt in the air. 

“God damn,” Jesse says and shifts beneath Sam. 

His grip is so tight, it hurts, but in a good way that Sam hates. He does not want to be hard about this. It’s the worst thing that ever happened. Dean’s asshole on the iPad is the worst thing he’s ever seen. Why is his traitor body reacting like this? It's not hot. It's horrible.

Then Uncle Jesse makes it even worse by wrapping his warm lips around Sam’s earlobe, his beard tickle-scraping all along his cheek and neck.

“Don’t go to Dean right now. Got it?”

Sam nods. Uncle Jesse loosens his grip, like retractable seatbelts at the end of a scary carnival ride. Sam’s dad strides into the room, still buckling his belt. 

“Did you watch with him?”

Sam doesn’t wait to hear Jesse’s answer. He grabs his iPad, runs past his father into his room, slams the door, and locks it. If he wasn’t such a little coward, he would have attacked. Would have ripped John Winchester's face off. But Sam is not an idiot. He knows he stands no chance against that guy. His dad always felt like he just barely tolerated him. Today, all the love lost between them has morphed into hard, cold hate.

Still, the only chance Sam has is with an armed cavalry. 

Because his dad hasn’t given him a cellphone yet, Sam resorts to Skype.  
Heart pounding, he dials 911.  
The lady on the other end asks what his emergency is.

“I... uh… My dad… I…”

His doorknob twists. “Sam?”

“My dad. He just… he attacked my brother.”

“Sam, open the door.”

“I need help. Please.”

The lady asks for Sam’s address. The door flies off the hinges. Sam throws a pillow at his father just before John yanks away the iPad. He passes it to Jesse who disconnects the call. 

Sam’s attempt at fleeing is cut pitifully short by his dad catching him in mid-air, sitting him down on the bed, and kneeling in front of him with his hands on his knees. 

“Stay. Got it?”

Sam is dizzy and his heart is about to explode and Jesse is blocking the door and his dad smells like Dean. There’s no way he could run. He can hardly catch enough air. 

“What are you doing, son?”

“You..”

There’s no lead up to the tears this time. Sam’s face erupts.  
Usually, his dad tells him to suck it up, man up, shut it down.  
This time, John watches with a blank face and waits until Sam isn’t sobbing anymore. 

“I’m going to check on Dean,” Uncle Jesse says. 

Sam’s dad replies, “Leave him. He had it coming.” Then he looks into Sam’s eyes - his face all blurry because of the tears. “He knows better than to pull a stunt like that. If either one of you has a problem with the way things are running in this house, you come to me and you talk like a man. You don’t run away. You don’t call the police. You understand?”

Sam nods and chews on the inside of his cheek. 

“Good.” John stands and points to Sam's bobblehead. “You see Albie? That’s camera one. Nothing goes on in this room that I don’t know about.

Number two: the police are not going to help you.  
If, on some off chance you get someone to come out here and have a good, hard look at the way we live, you and your brother will be taken away and put into separate homes - if they can find someone to take Dean, which is unlikely at his age.” 

Sam hadn’t thought past the hone call. Hadn’t even planned what to say.

“On the other hand, if you take a deep breath and think about it, you have a very good life. You eat three square meals every day. Have your own room, your own electronics. You play soccer and chess and everybody around here loves and takes care of you. Is that true or false?”

Sam didn’t have to think about it. Of course, it was true. 

“We just happen to show our affection and discipline in unique ways. Up until now, you weren’t initiated into the Winchester way, but now you are. And it’s not anyone else business. Do you understand that?”

Sam nods.

"This is out family. This is our business. Understood?"

Another nod. 

“Are we going to have any more problems, Sam?”

“What about Dean?”

“What about him?” John sighs. “Your brother’s fine. Maybe he’ll think twice next time he wants to be a big hero.”

He claps Uncle Jess on the shoulder as they leave the room. 

Sam sits on his bed for a few minutes. He wipes a hand down his face. Then, he goes over and picks up his Albert Einstein bobblehead. He taps its crazy white hair and says, “Hello? Can anyone hear me?”


	27. Chapter 27

JUDIAN113 - You’re too close

Sam blinks at the reply on his iPad. Someone is responding in real-time. Which means that some stranger is watching his room through a live camera feed. The fascinated half of Sam's mind quiets the half that wanted to shatter the thing. He places his Albert Einstein bobblehead back on the shelf and sits on the bed. 

“Is this better?” 

The iPad screen shows an image of Sam. That's 75% of the screen. On the right panel, a chat unfolds.

WELLY777 - We love you Sam!!!!! (Too many emojis to replicate - hearts and hugs)

RODGER - You’re so sweet

HASTINGS - Hey cutie

MR WOLF - Such a clever kid.

CREED73 - U R one HOTTTTTT little boy

CARTER - I want to fuck you.

Sam's heart pounds as he reads the comments and squints at Einstein. 

“Ummm.”

GREER - You are a fucking animal and I hate you for what you did to your brother.

Sam’s entire body tenses. He grits his teeth and battles the tears. If Dean could see how much he's been crying today, he'd be disgusted.

“I… My dad said…”

Before Sam can defend his indefensible actions, the other people on the chat respond. 

WELLY777 - Shut up, fuck face

RODGER - If he cries, I’m going to find you and kill you

CREED73 - Sam, what’s your number? 

Sam doesn’t know all the rules of how their website works, but it doesn’t take a genius to know he’s not supposed to give that out. 

"I can't..."

CREED73 - What state are you in?

Sam stopped chewing his fingernails a year ago, but this is a prime time to pick back up a comforting, if dirty habit. 

GREER - In case you bunch of morons didn’t notice, your sweet little angel just buttfucked his brother while he was healing from having been jumped. 

Sam lays down and takes a big breath. Greer isn’t wrong. 

MR WOLF - Oh so, Dean is some kind of innocent? 

GREER - Dean, as always, was following orders. He is the good son. Sam is the spoiled brat, taking advantage

HASTINGS - Sam took advantage? Are you daft?? 

GREER - Dean ran away because he was tired of being his father’s fuck toy

WELLY 777 - Booohooo (a string of crying face emojis)

CREED73 - I wish my dad would have fucked me like John does

GREER - You all are a bunch of idiots

RODGER - Why are you even on this site?

WELLY777- If you don’t love Sam, get out of his room. 

JUDIAN113 - Get the FUCK off this chat, loser!

GREER - Dean ought to tie Sam up and bang him until he can’t walk right

WELLY777 - Are you kidding? Sam is a natural top. Did you see him hammer the living shit out of Dean???? You heard John. That hole was still gaping.

If that is supposed to make Sam feel good about himself, it has the oosite effect. Even if Dean's anus was still loose, there couldn’t have been any ejaculate, because Sam hasn’t started producing that yet. So, his dad must have been exaggerating for effect. The real question is, now that Sam knows his life is a freaking TV show, what's even real?

As if these people can read minds, the next question is:

CREED73 - Sam, are you guys actors?


	28. Chapter 28

Last night, Sam fell asleep watching the chat. This morning, he wakes up with his iPad drool-glued to his cheek. 

Doesn’t turn it on, though. Some of those people were nice to him, but they probably stayed up watching him sleep, which is spooky. 

All his life, there’s been a camera in his room - people on the other side - watching Sam dress and do his homework and read and …

That’s pretty much all he ever does. 

Now, they’ll be waiting to see when he masturbates. Most people probably subscribe to his dad's bedroom which is where most of the sex occurs. 

John with Vickie. Or whatever girlfriend of the month. Their dad goes through girlfriends like chewing gum. 

Sam with Dean. 

There’s also the camera in Dean’s room. People paid to watch his brother get raped in there. - because let’s be real. That’s what it was.   
Running away was stupid and Dean deserved punishment, probably. 

But it was still rape, right? 

Sam looks up the definition:

The penetration, no matter how slight, of the vagina or anus with any body part or object, or oral penetration by a sex organ of another person, without the consent of the victim.

It didn’t look like Dean consented. Their dad definitely penetrated his anus, and not slightly. 

And people watched it as entertainment. They probably commented all kinds of stuff, but Sam doesn’t have the stomach to see that.

Thinking about all this sex, and everything, makes his head hurt. Makes the room spin, like he’s being flushed down the toilet. That might also be because he didn’t sleep much more than an hours. Sam spent most of the night wondering when Dean will stop being angry.

Sam goes to the restroom. Then, he stands outside of his brother’s door. Doesn’t knock. It’s Saturday morning and Dean’s not an early riser. Also, he’s healing. Sleep is the best medicine for healing. 

(Unlike getting raped)

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispers to the door. 

Then he follows the smell of bacon to the kitchen, on the off chance that Dean’s already down there scarfing down both of their portions. It would be fine. Sam doesn’t love bacon and he would give anything to see his brother stuffing as much meat into his goofy smirk as humanly possible and then try to talk while he’s chewing. 

But Dean’s not in the kitchen. Only the rapist is in there, and the sizzle and pop. 

Okay.   
It’s not going to do anybody any good for Sam to think this way. He needs to drop it.   
His dad is right. They have it good. Some kids have no parents. No home. He saw this movie about a Chinese kid who had to sleep on a sewage grate to keep warm. 

Sam doesn’t have a mother, but nobody has everything. 

His dad sets a plate of bacon and eggs, but mostly apple slices in front of him, because Dad knows and cares what Sam likes to eat. You have to think on the bright side. 

“Thank you,” Sam says.

His dad ruffles his hair. “You sleep all right?”

No. 

“Mmhm.” Sam nibbles the edge of an apple slice. “Is Uncle Jesse still here?”

“No, he went home. You two had a nice little talk yesterday.”

Well, it was a nice little talk right up until Uncle Jesse started squeezing Sam’s dick. According to the official definition, that's not rape. It definitely felt rapish.

“What was that all about?”

Sam shrugs and shoves the apple into his mouth to give himself an excuse not to talk. 

When he swallows, he asks, “Can I take Dean a plate?”

Dean never denies food and he can’t possibly hold a grudge against the person who hand delivers breakfast to him. 

“If he doesn’t come to the table, he doesn’t eat.” 

Sam bites his lip. Pushes the food around on his plate. 

“You feeling okay?”

Sam nods but doesn’t raise his gaze. Doesn't want to see his father's eyes. But he does have a question:

“Is there a camera in here?”

John points. Sam looks up at the hanging plant by the window. How can there be a camera in there?

“Where else?”

John leaves the kitchen, so Sam follows into his office. He can count on three fingers the times he’s been in this room. It's dark, with three monitors on a huge desk. 

Until very recently, Sam believed his dad ran a security company, installing cameras, dispatching mall cops, and personal details.   
Maybe that’s still true. Who even knows?

His dad types in a password and brings up a dozen unique camera perspectives on every room in the house: the kitchen, the bathrooms, the bedrooms. Dean’s room. 

Dean is on his computer. Sam’s heart squeezes at the sight of him, sitting there. Working away. So close and so far.

His dad types again and brings up a new image: a google search for Mary Campbell. 

“Little idiot,” John mumbles and storms from the room. 

Sam follows at a safe distance, watching from down the hall as his father bangs his fist against Dean’s door. 

“Open it now or I’ll break it down.”

When the door doesn’t open quickly enough for their father’s taste, John steps back, centers his foot by the doorknob, and kicks it in. 

Pulse pounding, Sam peeks in at Dean peering up from his desk - all innocent and beautiful. He’s going to deny it. 

“What is your problem, man?” Dean asks. “I’m just watching porn.”

Their dad rips the cord from the wall, scoops the laptop under his arm and sticks a finger in Dean’s face. “She’s fucking dead.”

Somehow the sharp words or the whip of his father’s voice, sucks all the air out of the space. Sam can’t draw breath. 

As their father stomps away, Sam dares look into Dean’s room again. His brother levels the coldest, most foreign gaze. Sam rolls aside to break the eye contact, his back pressed against the wall in the hall. 

Then, his father grabs his wrist. “You come with me.”

Maybe it’s Sam’s turned to get raped. Oh, God. That looked really painful and not just because of Dean’s ribs. It just looked…   
awful. 

Not like the way you’d treat a person. And certainly not someone you cared about. 

Sam shuffles his feet down the hall to his father’s bedroom. John closes the door and sits on the bed with a sigh. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to—“

He opens Dean’s laptop and types until he comes to the site he wants. Then he pats the space beside him. Sam sits but as far away as possible without incurring wrath.

There's a survey on the screen:

Team Wham Bam Thank You Sam - 48%

Team Mean Dean - 49%

His father asks, “Do you know what this is?”

Sam shrugs. 

“It’s a poll,” his dad explains.“Doesn’t mean they like one or the other better. Just indicates who they want to take the dominate role in your next scene.”

“Scene?”

“The next time you two perform together.”

Perform?

Sam already knew that his dad told Dean to touch him the way he did. But he hadn’t thought of it as a performance. That word is a punch in the gut. A plunger to the face. 

“They’ve pledged over $10K. It’s going to happen. It’s just a matter of when. We’ll wait until Dean is better, but you understand what this means, right?” 

“People want me and Dean to have sex again?”

“Exactly. But they’re going to want something special. Sounds like a domination scene. Do you know what that is?”

Sam shakes his head.

“Yeah, well, you’ll learn,” John says and shuts the computer. “Subscriptions and pledges are up, thanks to your little 4th wall break. Be careful with that, though. Anybody asks you for info—“

“I know.”

As horrible as everything is, Sam is going to be with Dean again. His dad is going to make them. That's good, right? Dean is going to have to touch him, and kiss him, and be inside of him. Sam liked being inside of Dean, too, until he realized that Dean didn’t want it. 

Which means Sam is also a rapist.


	29. Chapter 29

When his dad dismisses him from the room, Sam crawls back onto his bed with his iPad propped on his knees. He navigates through their website to the feed of Dean’s room.

His brother is still sitting at his desk, staring at the space where his computer had been. 

Comments are lighting up the chat:

\- Serves him right  
\- what was he doing?  
\- he says watching porn  
\- no shame in that  
\- hottest kid on earth  
\- agreed  
\- Even moreso when he’s angry  
\- John ought to fuck him every day  
\- Get Sam back in there  
\- Did anyone see the snuff vid?  
-WHATT???  
-Lies  
-Contact admin. It ain’t cheap, tho

Using the log-in credentials his father set up for him, Sam can comment on Dean's page as an anonymous guest. 

ANON - What is he thinking?

\- Nothing. You know that pretty head is empty  
\- hahaha  
\- not true. He’s thinking of when his uncle will come fuck him  
\- god I wish I lived in that house when I grew up  
\- I wish I was dean  
\- come ride this fat dick.

\- Best scene on the site - #NaturalBottom (HumanShow.cxs-sioj53sw#j)

It's an internal link.  
Sam probably shouldn’t click. It could lead anywhere. Or break his iPad and get him in huge trouble. It could also download a virus and wreck their whole server. 

Sam closes his eyes and taps the link. 

It leads to footage what looks like Dean’s room. Same bed, Same curtains, but some details are off. The lego sculpture on the shelf in Dean’s real room is Godzilla, not a T-Rex like on screen. The ceiling fan in Dean's real room has 6 propellors. On-screen there are 5 and they’re the wrong kind of wood. Otherwise, it’s a good replica. 

Dean is pretty young. Sam doesn’t even remember when his hair was long enough to fall into his eyes. It must have been 4 or 5 years ago. He's beautiful, as always. Not girly like the British kid. He’s a boy, proud and masculine, and beautiful because of it.

There’s no way Sam was ever that beautiful. When he stands next to his brother, it just showcases how skinny and pale and clueless Sam is. 

It’s no surprise people pay to watch Dean do anything. 

Sam always thought of himself as a devoted kid with the best big brother on earth. The moment Dean touched him, kissed him, his entire reality shifted. Love like nothing he'd ever felt crashed in on him, heavier than he bear - especially now that Dean is a million light-years away. 

Across the hall behind a broken door. 

On the screen, standing at the foot of a bed. 

Sam sighs and unpauses the video.

“Well, hey there, Dean.”

The man is faceless. His features have been blurred out and his voice has been altered so he sounds like a demon - three simultaneous male voices. He’s shirtless, laying on Dean’s bed with his ankles crossed. 

Dean doesn’t move toward him, but he remains polite. “Hello, Sir.”

“Do you know what we’re going to do today?”

“No, sir.”

“We’re going to play a little bit,” the demon-man says and throws his legs over the side of the bed. “Does that sound like fun?”

“Yes, sir?”

It doesn’t sound like fun to Sam. If it would help, he’d yell for his brother to run. But it’s four years too late for that. 

“Undress.”

Dean obeys without hesitation. When he moves aside, a tattoo over the man’s left pec becomes clear: a blue wolf. 

“Good boy. Get on your knees.”

Dean complies, but he’s still in the middle of the room. So, the man walks over to him. He makes a minute-long ceremony of unzipping his fly and presenting his dick like it’s a prize. 

“Kiss it.”

Dean does it. 

The man grabs the back of his skull and thrusts his hips forward, rubbing himself all over Dean’s face. Sam’s brother doesn’t fight. He just squeezes his eyes shut. The man slaps Dean’s face with his cock and then without any warning, jams it in Dean’s mouth.

Dean gags and pushes against the man’s thighs so he can breathe. 

“Give me your hands.”

The man pulls a nylon zip-tie cuff from his back pocket and fastens Dean’s wrists together. Then he blindfolds him and pats his cheek. 

“Turn around and show me that pretty hole.”

Dean drops to his hands and knees and starts to crawl. The man grabs him around the middle and repositions him so the black plug is visible to the camera. The man plucks it out and for a moment, Dean’s hairless, pink asshole gapes. 

The man hums his appreciation and a warm rush fills Sam’s pants. 

He shouldn’t be watching this. 

There’s no way he’s going to be able to stop. 

“How long have you been wearing that?” The man asks, and sticks the dirty plug into Dean’s mouth. “Your dad thinks of everything.”

Again, without preamble, the man jams in three fingers. Dean gasps. Sam winces. 

“Shhh,” the demon says. “Sammy’s trying to sleep.”

The tears that were playing behind Sam’s eyes break free. He should turn this off. He ought to hurl his iPad against the wall. He pushes pause, shoulders heaving, chest blazing, cock brick-hard.

Until recently, Sam used to tickle himself down there, but he never really beat off. Right now, the only thing he wants in the whole world is to stroke himself the way the man on the video is doing. 

It’s the dirtiest, most awful way to feel. No decent person could watch this and get an erection. If Sam were a decent person…

But he already knows he’s not decent. He’s the kind of piece of crap who presses the triangle and watches a stranger spank his brother until his buttcheeks are bright red and then fucks him harder and faster than Sam has ever seen anyone move. 

Beneath his attacker, Dean whimpers and whines, but he doesn't complain. He doesn't try to get away. Like their dad said, he's a world-class bottom.

How much did this demon pay to have Dean this way?  
Isn’t that illegal?

Sam was only 9 at the time, but it ought to be illegal to sleep soundly while your brother is being sold like a hunk of beef. It should be illegal to watch a video of criminal activity with your hands down your pants.

Sam shudders and groans, and for the first time, a tiny spurt of liquid leaves his body when he comes. The last tendrils of energy draining from him as he covers his face and cries into his sleeve.


	30. Chapter 30

Once Sam pulls himself together, he checks the live feed of Dean’s room. His big brother is even more beautiful now than when he was Sam’s age. His hair is all spiky and he's bigger and more muscular, pacing the room like a caged tiger. Impossibly gorgeous when he’s angry like this.

A quick glance at the chat shows everyone watching him is thinking the same thing. The people watching Sam's room are making other observations.

JUDIAN - Look at him go!!! Told you he’d start up soon.

WELLY777 - Anybody wondering what little Sammy’s watching???? (a thousand shrugging emojis)

CREED 73 - Probably watching Dean take a fat cock

The penis in that video wasn’t such a big one but Sam's body burns bright that these weirdos watched him masturbate and accurately guessed what he was watching. 

Sam hurls his iPad across the room.

Once his breathing and pulse have returned to normal, he quietly opens his door. Dean’s is still hanging from the hinges.   
When will they fix that?

Until now, Sam has respected his brother’s privacy enough not to stand in the hall and stare at him. But also not enough to watch the things Sam’s been watching.

With his heart beating in his throat, Sam tiptoes over, practicing the pitiful apology and his most effective puppy dog eyes.

Dean stops pacing and growls, “If you don’t stay away from me, I swear, I’ll gut you.” 

Sam backs away, empty as if Dean had already fulfilled his promise. He tosses himself onto the bed - face puffy, eyes stinging and drained from the crying he’s already done. Such an idiot

He fishes his iPad from the other side of the bed and lays there like a pitiful sack of onions, watching his irresistible, unattainable brother pacing on a 5-inch screen. 

All of a sudden, Dean gives the camera both of his middle fingers. Then, there’s a crash. Sam’s not sure whether he hears it on screen or in the next room. Dean’s feed cuts to static. 

Sam sits up. 

His dad is going to murder Dean.   
They’re not supposed to mess with the cameras.   
Dean already did it once before, in their dad's room before they ran away. Those things must be expensive, and people are paying to watch them. 

Sam’s not going to tell, but eventually, when their dad finds out, the punishment Dean got before is going to look like a trip to the zoo.

Why is Dean being so stupid stuff these days? Is he trying to get killed?  
His live feed is totally off-line, but the chat continues:

\- Brat  
\- Good for you, buddy  
\- Yeah. Fuck your dad  
\- Why do we never see Dean fuck John?  
\- Way hotter with Sam?  
\- Fuck Sam  
\- Yeah, Sam’s a little pussy  
\- 25 minutes ago. Sam’s room. Probably watching their first-time video on repeat. (Heart emojis)

Sam hadn’t thought of doing that, but it might make him feel more connected to his brother. He sits cross-legged on the bed and searches the site. Before he finds what he’s looking for, Uncle Jesse’s voice booms through the walls. Not because he’s shouting, which he’s not. Because his voice has the same low, commanding rumble as their father’s. Only if it was John Winchester, he’d be yelling. 

Uncle Jesse is talking to Dean. Sam can’t tell what he’s saying, but even after he creeps from the bed and locks his door, he stands for there breathing too hard. Jesse could kick it in, if he wanted. 

Sam retreats into his closet and slinks down onto the shoes with the iPad in his lap. So far as he knows, there’s no camera in here. 

JUDIAN- Are you scared of your uncle?

Mr_WOLF - He’d never hurt you

WELLY777- Yeah right. He’d split that ass in two neat pieces 

GREER - And I personally would pay to see that. 

WELLY777 - Sammy, tell them. That is Dean’s ass

JUDIAN - You mean Dean’s ass belongs to Sam

Mr_WOLF - Agree. Look, son, you’re better than Dean is. He’s a brute idiot. You are intelligent and sensitive and you have every right to dominate those who are inferior to you by nature.

WELLY777 -Team Sam Bam Thank you, Ma’am. 

Sam doesn’t respond, because if he speaks, Uncle Jesse will know where he's hiding.


	31. Chapter 31

After watching Jesse’s truck pull out of the driveway and turn the corner, Sam darts out of his room. He casts a longing glance at Dean’s door before he runs downstairs and lets the back screendoor slam as he leaves the porch. 

His bike is at Cassie’s and technically, he's not allowed to be there. But what choice is there when his destination is five miles away?

Sam sneaks into her yard without being detected, but as he’s rolling back through the gate, her patio door squeals open. His insides freeze as he stands paralyzed.

“Hey. Sammy?”

Cassie was always so nice. The big sister he never had.

“How is he?”

But Sam is not allowed to be here. And he hates that Cassie ever kissed her brother and who knows what else? Sam hops onto his bike and sails away - following the directions he memorized from his iPad. 

Twelve minutes later, Sam stands, lungs huffing, heart pounding as he regards the stairs leading up to the double doors. People brush past without taking notice of him. Everyone’s bigger. Some of them smell bad. Some of them are in uniforms with guns hanging from their holsters. 

This was a bad idea. Go home.

No. It was the only choice.

Sam's tongue is coated in sour gunk his stomach sent back up. Is he going to do this or not? His feet won’t move another step. 

A hand falls on his shoulder and he yelps. Nearly pees himself.   
A tall, blond cop gives him a small smile and leads Sam into the precinct. 

It’s so freaking loud inside: voices shouting and talking on phones. Keyboards clacking. Footsteps. Every sound is amplified by the pounding of Sam’s overactive pules in his ears.

Through it all, the firm hand on his shoulder guides him past the intake desk, down a hall, toward - who knows what?

This is a remarkably unplanned plan. 

Okay. So, this is happening. Sam had set the snowball in motion. He’s going to go into this place and spill his guts. He’s not going to rat out Jesse or even his father. He’s just planning to confess what he did to Dean. That should be enough to get the police down there to investigate. 

And then what?  
Sam has no idea.   
He’s a 13-year-old kid.   
He can’t think of everything. 

He just knows his life is broken and somebody has to fix it. Maybe, hopefully, it’s officer Wilke. 

The man brings Sam one of those miniature bottles of water and tells him to sit on the opposite side of an interrogation table. Then, he closes the door, shutting out all the noise and bustle from the other side. There’s one of those mirrors you see in cops shows. The one that always has witnesses on the other side. There’s a hook on the table, too, for attaching steel cuffs. 

And honestly, the whole thing feels a little bit like a porno scene. There’s a thought that never would have occurred to Sam just a few days ago. 

The officer sits down across from him, folds his hands on the table, and asks, “All right, Sam. What’s going on?”

And that's fine, except he never asked Sam's name.


	32. Chapter 32

“Just behave yourself, son.” Officer Wilke waves.

Uncle Jess is waiting on the front porch. He waves back. 

During the ride, Officer Wilke explained that Winchester Security is the police department's third-largest private donor. A third of their officers worked for Sam's dad before joining the force. 95 percent of those men believe that what happens in a man’s home is his own godforsaken business. 

Sam’s dad’s car isn’t in the driveway. Just Jesse’s truck.   
It’s hard to say which of them is worse: this officer who knew Sam’s name without asking, Uncle Jesse, the fondler, or John Winchester, the pyscho mastermind. 

Sam roosts in the seat, breathing as deep as his lungs will allow.   
This cop has no reason to kill him. 

“Go on, Sam. You’ll be fine. Just tell them that Dean got to you.”

Yeah, no. Sam can’t stay with this guy. He knows way too much. Probably subscribes to the house. 

By the time Sam opens the door, Jesse is on the other side. He thanks the officer, pinches Sam’s ear and drags him into the house. 

“What am I going to do with you?”

The answer to that question can't be good.

“If your dad was here, he’d wail into you like nobody’s business,” Uncle Jesse says and kicks the door shut. “You don’t go outside of the family for solutions, Sam. You have a problem, you come to your dad or to me.”

Jesse lifts Sam by the shoulders like he’s weightless. Inside of his shoes, Sam’s toes flex down, straining for the floor.

“Do you understand that?”

There was a time when Sam liked this. A time when Uncle Jesse or his dad picking him up was the most fun thing in the world. They’d swing him around or toss him back and forth between each other. How had he forgotten that? Why does he remember it now?

He’s never feared for his life before now. Actually, no. That one time, in California, at the truck stop, Sam was afraid for his life and for Dean’s. This is different.

Jesse’s gaze is wet-hot and too intense, like a sauna. Does he want to do things to Sam because some fan pledged money to see it? Or because he really wants Sam that way?

Doesn’t matter. It’s fucking disgusting. 

But maybe it won’t get worse than this. It doesn’t have to be like it was with Dean and Dad. If Sam stays calm and doesn’t fight, maybe he can get out of this.

“Uncle Jesse.”

“Not another word,” Jesse says. “It’s time for you to learn a little obedience.”

With Sam’s feet off the ground, his back pinned to the wall, Jesse smashes their mouths together. He tastes like slimy beer.

Sam kicks. Strikes gold.   
Jesse groans and lets go.   
Sam falls and scrambles to Dean’s room. His brother can’t be so angry that he’ll let Jesse murder him. Or something worse.

It doesn’t matter how angry Dean is because he’s not here.


	33. Chapter 33

“Goddamnit, Sam.” 

Jesse’s steel-toed boots thunder up the stairs as Sam dashes into his room, locks, and barricades the door. 

Standing in the middle of the floor, breathing too fast, the only escape shines crystal clear. 

He opens his desk's second drawer and uncaps a calligraphy pen.  
It’s crude, but it’ll work. 

Last year, for the science fair, Sam created a life-sized diagram of the entire human circulatory system. Sculpy and yarn. Won third place in the county. The point is, he knows where his veins are. 

The door bucks. Sam jumps. Jesse probably tried that kicking trick John used to bash in Dean’s door, but Sam saw that coming. He'd jammed the back of his chair under the knob. It won’t hold forever, but it buys him a few seconds. 

Jesse reverts to banging on the door with his fist.

“Open it, Sam. Right now, boy, you hear me?”

Sam hears him fine. He sticks the tip of the pen to his carotid artery. The blood vessel leaps beneath the skin. Pulse out of control. One quick, hard jab and Sam's room will be a mess. He'll bleed out within five minutes.

Dean’s gone.  
Jesse is on the other side of the door, gearing to rip into Sam’s ass. Literally. 

No.  
No way. 

Sam faces the camera. 

“I don't know what else to do?”

His hand is trembling. If he doesn’t do it now, he’s going to lose his nerve. 

Somewhere in the house, a phone rings.

A tear streams down Sam’s cheek. Suicide is not as easy as it sounds. But what choice does he have? Let Uncle Jesse rape him?  
Maybe he deserves to suffer like that and let all these people watch, but he can’t. No one will ever touch him except Dean.  
Ever.

You can do one quick jab.  
Quit being a punk - that’s Dean’s voice in Sam's head. Dean who must want Sam dead, after what he did. 

There’s a gentle knock at his door. “Sammy? Buddy.”

“Where's Dean?”

"I don' tknow."

"What did you do to him?"

“I didn’t…”

“What did Dad do?”

“He was gone,” Jesse says. “Your dad is looking for him.”

Good. Maybe he’ll get away. 

“Sam, come on, pal. Open the door. Let me talk to you.”

“Fuck you,” Sam shouts with the pen still at his throat. “Go away, Uncle Jesse. I mean it. I know you can see me, right?"

That must be why he's calmed his approach. 

"I’ll do this right now. How many pledges you think you’ll get for that?”

“Okay. All right, Sam. I’m leaving right now. We’ll all talk when your dad and Dean get back.”

Shuddering like there’s an earthquake in his bones, Sam tosses his pen on the floor, crushes it under his heel, and knocks Eintstein on the floor.


	34. Chapter 34

The problem with Dean: he’s too predictable.  
If he ran, there’s only one place he could be. 

Not true.  
The California thing, chasing after their mother, was unexpected. And stupid.  
But now that option is exhausted, there’s only one place. 

Their dad must have thought the same because his truck is poorly parked in front of Cassie’s. She and her dad are on their front porch. Cassie’s covering her mouth and her dad is just watching. Both, completely useless. 

And what would be helpful? Calling the cops?  
Ha.

Sam’s dad is in the middle of the street with Dean’s arm pinned behind his back, like it's an arrest. Dean winces in pain as Dad shoves him toward the car. He looks up, sees Sam, and shouts, “No!”


	35. Chapter 35

Jesse’s arms are like a straitjacket. Sam squirms and bashes like crazy, but it’s wasted energy. His uncle shoves him into the cabin of his pickup truck and dares him to run. Sam is too busy watching their father manhandle Dean to argue.

Their uncle and their father are going to take them both somewhere and murder them. That only becomes more certain when they pull into the parking lot of some seedy warehouse. John pushes Dean ahead of him toward the door.

Uncle Jesse asks, “Do I need to carry you?”

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No, sir.”

An image flashes in Sam's mind: he and his brother kneeling side by side. Blindfolded. The last sound Sam hears is a safety click off. 

The door of the warehouse clanks behind them and his skin bursts over with goosebumps. It’s dank and moldy. The light from his father’s flashlight is faint. Something scurries over Sam’s feet and he leaps and shrieks. 

Jesse pokes his back and keeps him moving forward. Guantanamo.

John’s keys jingle as he opens a door. Dean first, then Sam. Loud, metallic clank shut. The light flickers on and they’re standing in a replica of Dean’s bedroom - plus two tripod-mounted cameras. 

Also, the lego creature on the shelf is wrong. Should be Godzilla, not a T-Rex. The ceiling fan has 6 propellors instead of the 5 in Dean’s real room and they’re the wrong kind of wood. And there are all kinds of strange items on the bed.

Dean’s arm is wrapped around his ribs. He’s leaning forward, moaning, “Oh, man.”

“Are you okay?”

He glares over his shoulder at Sam. Has every right to his anger. 

“I’m sorry. Dean, I’m so sorry.”

"You're sorry? What the hell are you sorry for?"

Sam blinks, but can't make sense of his brother's question.

"I tried like hell to draw the heat off you. When I get in trouble, the weirdos get hyperactive. I thought dad would you alone, if I --"

"You’re not mad at me?"

"For what?" Dean settles on the bed with a loud sigh. “There’s no fucking way out of here. And they’re not going to let us out until we do this scene.”

“What scene?”

“The whole … You probably don’t know, but the idiots who watch our house have teams. Team Sam, Team Dean.”

Team Wham Bam, Thank you, Sam.

“They want us to use this shit on each other.”

There are things laid out on the bed. A few days ago, Sam wouldn’t have recognized it all, but he’s a different boy now: a whip, a blindfold, a buttplug, zip tie cuffs, a spiked collar ...

He doesn’t ask which of them won the poll, or who got more pledges, or however it all works. Who gives a shit? His life is a train wreck.  
No, his life is Chernobyl. 

Dean picks up a note, reads it, and shakes his head. 

“I’ll be the, you know," Sam says, because he's not sure of the words. "You can do me. If you want.”

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

“I’m not a baby, Dean.”

Dean winces, maybe in pain, but it looks more like sadness. “I never should have—“

“Please don’t say that.” Sam eases down beside him on the bed and touches his thigh. Thank heavens, Dean doesn’t move away. “I’m tough, you know. I can take it. And like you said, they’re not going to let us out any other way.”

Dean doesn't speak for a long time and Sam doesn't interrupt his silence.  
Finally, his brother sighs and nods. Dean’s Adam’s apple shifts when he swallows. How had Sam never noticed that before? Now, he'll never stop seeing it. 

Dean sighs and whispers, “Take your clothes off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> END PART 2
> 
> I've got one more tidbit to add to this. Thanks for sticking around and commenting!


	36. PART 3: Mind Your Business

At the sin-ripened age of 17, John Henry Winchester was one day away from aging out of his previous occupation: ward of the state. 

A badass, in every sense, but he didn’t fight and drink to be a rebel. It was in his blood. Deep as coal-black hair and hazel eyes were genetic traits, John had inherited a touch of stir-crazy from his old man. 

Psychologically, he was a decade advanced of his government-issued ID. It was time he got out of his foster family’s house and out on his own. There was only one reason he wasn’t already on the street.

That reason ought to have been asleep on the top bunk, but thinking of little brothers summons them. Fourteen-year-old Jesse swung down into his bed with all the grace of a tree sloth. The cheap-sweet scent of his dollar store apple shampoo preceded him. 

Without asking, the kid crawled under John’s sheets, curled under big brother's arm like a baby owl under its mother’s wing. Clutching and shedding shuddering tears, like John was scheduled for execution the following morning. 

John’s caseworker had done her damn job and helped him devise a plan. He'd be shipping off to be all he could be. Basic training at Fort Bliss.

If invincible JohnBoy had one weakness it was his brother's incessant crying. Jesse was always wailing about something. It was like John got all the bravado, all the confidence, all the swagger. Jesse got the sniveling, bed-wetting, bully-magnet genes. 

He’s also a clever little cuss. John will give him that much.  
He runs his fingers through his brother’s soft, too-long curls. If it was up to John, he’d give him a nice crew cut like his own. But that was their foster mother's domain. 

“What are you weeping for now, Sport?”

Jesse hugged him even tighter. John was already way too tall for his mattress. His brother was way too big to be in John’s bed, but there was no way he was going to send Jesse back to his bunk on the last night. 

Jess had been his pal, his companion, his reason to keep it together through all the crap they’d survived. They’d never had anything but each other, unless you counted their batshit dad who believed in ghosts and demons. The guy had once attacked Jesse because he believed the baby was possessed. That’s when John had knocked him out with a bottle of his own Jack, took his brother, and ran. 

Now, looking down through the dim light, his brother’s brown eyes look almost black. It’s one of the few traits they don’t have in common. Same hair, same nose, same mouth. Almost like looking in a mirror that shows you the past.

Pretty mouth. Killer smile.

John’s a freak. There’s no denying it. The rumor in his school is that he’ll stick it in anything. He’s earned the reputation.  
If they could see him now. 

He presses identical mouths together, sweeps his tongue around the soft insides of his brother’s minty cheek, sucks in his stilted breath. 

Can’t really call it a whim when John has been fantasizing about this since Jesse was way too little. Not that he’s old enough now, gripping John’s shirt, slurping in soft gasps. So sweet and clueless. 

“You all right?”

Jesse nods.  
John nips his cheek and gets salty tears on his lips. He pulls his brother’s nimble, skinny leg over his hip. When their chests meet, Jesse’s pulse is going nuts beneath his ribs.

It’s always so hot with virgins.  
But this is different.  
This is Jess.  
This is the baby. 

So far as John knows, his little brother has never been kissed. Doesn’t even show any interest in girls except to snort milk out of his nose when John tells him how some chick pussy farted while he banged her.

“Johnny?”

“Shh.” 

John kisses his brother a little longer this time, until the tension resolves into jellyfish surrender. Then he wets his middle finger with Jesse's spit.  
When John slips it between his brother's cheeks, the kid stiffens like rigor mortis but he doesn’t fight. Doesn’t ask John to stop. Never tells John no, because John would never hurt him. 

Well, this is going to hurt. No two ways about it. Might as well get the worst part over with. 

He turned his brother onto his back and slid his jammies down and off. John rolls behind him and humps Jesse's ass. He strokes his brother's pecker nice and slow. Four years younger and already bigger. 

“God damn, boy.”

Jesse grips John’s arm, turns his face aside, breathing hard. John kisses his nape, nibbles his ear. 

“Relax, all right. Don't I take care of you?”

Jesse nods. 

“I always got you. You know that.”

Except that John won’t be here. Tomorrow, he’ll be gone and Jess will have to fend for himself. John lets go of his brother’s cock and punches him in the kidney. Not too hard, but enough to give him the message.

“Quit crying about everything. Got it?”

Jesse curls in on himself and nods, trying to stifle a new batch of sobs. The little nerd is hopeless. And adorable.  
John rolls him over, pinches his chin, and kisses him until he relaxes again. Then he pulls his own underwear below his ass and spread his brother’s legs. 

“Open your eyes.”

John slow-fucks little Jesse missionary style, like a newly-wed princess. Pretty mouth wide open and silent except for quiet grunts. John staring into his eyes and tapping his cheek every time he tries to hide behind his eyelids. 

He needs Jesse to remember this. If he ever gets scared or lonely without John, Jesse needs to remember everything about this moment.

“You and me, forever. Got it?”

Jesse nods and shudders. John covers his mouth with his hand just as his groans swell into a shout. As soon as Jesse spurts between then, John stops chasing his climax so he can remain inside of his brother all night.  
At least until his alarm goes off, an hour before dawn.


	37. Chapter 37

Jesse shouldn’t have been surprised. His brother was like a thief in the night. Like a second coming. Standing outside of the Walgreens when Jesse got off work.

Gone six years and just like that, back again.

While Jesse had grown goofy and skinny as fuck, John had gotten jacked. It’s embarrassing really. Jess buys his second-hand clothing 3 sizes too big so nobody can see that he’s skin-over-bones underneath. He's also an inch taller than his older brother which seems like a sin.

If Jesse was capable, he'd fold his arms, walk away, and be angry. Six years of nothing. No calls, no letters.  
John shows up and expects him to run and clap him in a long, deep hug.

That’s just what Jesse does. He grips his brother’s body like he’ll never let go. Until John chuckles, taps his shoulders and steps back, taking a long, theatrical look at little Jesse - all grown up. 

Jesse lowers his eyes and blushes under the weight of John’s gaze. Never got attracted to any other guys, but his brother is not another guy. He’s everything. His aftershave is Heaven. The bulk of his body is Hell. And all Jesse can think of is being crushed beneath John. Licking the sweat from his neck. As if his thoughts are audible, he steps back and almost bumps into Julia.

“Whoa.” She laughs. “You guys look exactly alike.”

Except that John is gorgeous and Jesse looks like a stick bug.

“Hey, I’m Julia.” She sticks out her hand and shakes John’s. “He talks about you, a lot.”

Jesse’s face warms up brighter. 

“So, are you guys going to come back to the apartment?” She asks.

“You’re his…” John gestures between them.

With that grin, it's impossible to tell if he's angry or jealous or thinks it's hilarious. 

Julia attaches herself to Jesse’s arm like a leech. “We’ve been together for seven months and four days.”

She climbs onto her tiptoe to kiss his cheek. He squeezes his eyes shut and swallowed the urge to push her off. Not that she isn’t nice. She's really nice and soft and warm at night. Also, she pays 75% of the rent and is cool about Jesse spending most of his check on classes. 

“So, are we going back to the apartment, sport?”

Nobody has called Jesse that since he was 14 years old. No one else has ever called Jesse that except his big brother. It makes him want to melt and barf all at once. 

“No.”

The last thing he needs was for John to see the hovel-studio that he’s been calling home for the last half-year. 

“Guess it’ll be another time, Julia,” John says. “But pleasure to meet you, sweetheart.”

Charm rolls off him like heat off a griddle. Julia's probably creaming her shorts right now. Jesse certainly is.

“All right then. I’ll see you later,” she says, squeezing Jesse’s hand and bouncing away up the street. She spins and says, “Good to meet you, Johnny.”

“You too, cutie.”

The way Julia smiles makes Jesse imagine bashing her head against the pavement. John never called him that. Ever.

For the record, she isn’t particularly cute, which is how Jesse worked up the nerve to talk to her in the first place. But she’s unafraid and she’s generous and smart. At 20, Jesse still doesn’t know much about girls, but he has a sense that he’d rather have one like Julia than some hot, mean girl. As Jesse recalled, his brother’s priorities were exactly the opposite. 

John watches her ass as she walks away and claps his shoulder. “Nice.” 

You can’t even get mad. It's just Johnny being Johnny.  
Oozing charisma and saying whatever he's thinking and making everybody fall in love with him. Jesse used to hate him for that. For spreading himself around like a slutty bumblebee. Always understood those fairy tales characters that built towers and hid loved ones away. Not that you could ever do that to John Winchester. He’d fucking float back to the ground on his farts.

He was a mystical kind of charming. Like, an utter asshole, and constantly asking yourself, why I am so in love with this guy? kind of charming. Then, he’d do something beautiful, like ruffle his adult brother’s hair, wrap his big, warm hand around your neck and pull you into another hug and say, “Come here, you big baby.”

And there it is. That's why you love him. Because he knows exactly how to reduce you to your most basic essence. Jesse: the big baby. Putty in Johnny’s hands. Aching for his brother to drag him behind a dumpster and put him on his knees. 

John lets him go and sniffs loudly. “So, you more of a bar guy or a club guy?”

No explanation where he’s been and why he hadn’t been in touch. Why he’d disappeared or why he was returning now. Just Johnny - back.

Jesse isn’t a bar or a club guy. He's a rent a video and spend his free night on the sofa with an arm around Julia and his textbook in his lap guy.

“Bar, it is,” John says.

“How long… do… how...” Jesse hasn’t stammered since he was a kid. 

His brother claps his shoulder again and answers the unformed question, “Let’s just have a good time, all right?"

Bar, Beers. Billiards, Babes

John's idea. His good time. He hovers amid the smoke and laughter like the great, white shark of nightlife. Wrapping his arms around women he doesn’t know and whispering things that make them giggle. High dfving strange guys and introducing Jesse, as if he owns the place. 

John has always attracted females like moths to his eternal flame. Guys naturally like him. The Army has only made him cockier.

Jesse never gave the military more than three second’s thought. It’s not his world. After their upbringing, he’s allergic to guns. People shouting at him gives him ulcers.

He’s been doing custodial work and taking classes. No real direction or plan, but he's also never afraid what's going to happen next. Now that John is back, bad ideas follow: from the stealing of street signs to street fighting. It was always lively with John, but you never knew how it would end. 

Also, unlike his brother, Jesse doesn’t love beer and greasy food. He isn’t selective either. Julia works at Subway on the weekends, so they mostly eat stale-bread sandwiches. 

Peanuts and Budweiser isn’t going to agree with his stomach. Jesse let his brother order him a gin and tonic and accepts the misogynistic teasing that accompanies the drink. He spends the first couple of hours at the pub holding down a bar stool until Johnny got a 

“… great idea.”

The plan is for Jesse to pretend to suck at billiards for a round or two, attract some attention and a few bets. Then flip the switch. Jesse might be a skinny knockoff of his big brother, but he’d always dominated at pool. 

He also has a decent sense of when one of John’s plans is going to backfire. 

The thing is, people don’t like getting hustled out of their money. Weird. 

Against the soundtrack of John’s laughter, Jesse breaks the balls with a loud crack. The bartender drops a glass and everyone applauds. Within two minutes, he sinks every billiard on the table. 

John collects money from every sucker the Winchester boys have swindled. 

That could have been the end of it, but the sore loser cracks a pool stick across Jesse’s back. As Jesse goes to the floor, John socks the guy. Knocks him out with a single punch. Then, he smashes a beer bottle and holds up the jagged neck like a promise. He beckons and licks his smirk like he's about to take carnal pleasure in slowly grinding that thing up someone’s anus. 

Jesse knows his brother well enough to know that isn’t far from accurate.

“Fuck it,” one of the other guys says and no one disagrees. 

Then John buys everybody drinks, including the sore loser. 

Jesse doesn’t usually drink, because when their dad did he got extra weird. It's one of the few things he remembers about the old man. Tonight, he drinks his gin tonic and two beers - enough to put him slightly off balance. Not enough to lose his unspoken designation as driver. 

John stumbles back to the car with an arm over Jesse’s shoulder. Miraculously, he hands over the keys to his beautiful black Mustang. Jess accepts even though he doesn’t have his license. He knows how to drive, just avoids lines and crowds and paperwork when it isn’t necessary.

“To the Dewdrop Inn, Jeeves.” 

John closes his eyes and lets his head drop back. That shit-eating grin never leaves his face. 

The motel is 5 miles from Jesse and Julia’s place. The idea is to get his brother to bed and hoof it back. Up until the time he parks in front of John’s room, Jesse hadn’t allowed himself to think about John as anything other than his wild and unpredictable older brother. John, who sometimes does stupid things but never bothers with regret. He just pretends it never happened and rolls on with his carefree life. 

In the past six years, Jesse woke and fell asleep every day with that last night on his mind. Never spoke of it and sometimes, convinced himself he’d imagined the whole thing. 

The minute they cross the threshold, John kicks the door closed and presses Jesse against it. 

“Never let down your guard, you little shit.”

He punches Jesse in the gut with the same hammer fist that knocked down a man earlier that night. John never did pull his strikes. If he's going to hit you, it's going to hurt. 

Jesse survived his childhood by hiding behind his brother. He survived adulthood so far by not getting into fights. Accepting his low odds of victory, he folds over and waits until his brother tires himself out with throwing body shots. Never happens. 

What does happen is that John knees him in the nose and then spins him to face the door. 

“You little pussy.”

With a hand in the center of Jesse’s back, he loosens and yanks down both of their pants. There's a modicum of spit and absolutely no tenderness in the way John drives into him. 

The only mercy is that it ends quickly. 

Jesse squeezes his eyes shut. He should fight. John would respect that. But he’d been so sure - so afraid - that his brother wouldn’t touch him that he stays stock still and takes the punishment in lieu of nothing. 

When he's finished, John hisses like a lizard, steps back, and slaps Jesse’s raw ass. Laughing, he collapses onto the bed. 

Before Jesse can start torturing himself with questions of what it all means, John hurls orders. 

“Take off my boots.”

Jesse pulls up his slacks in slow motion. He's still wearing the khakis and the stupid Walgreen’s shirt. The suggestion that he should be his brother’s valet, as well as his fuck toy is too much. 

“What?” John croons. “Just do it.”

For a few seconds, Jesse stands his ground, reminding himself that he's an adult and that his brother is a brutish asshole who’s done nothing to deserve his service or his devotion. 

Then, he crosses the room and does what Johnny said.  
He tosses the boots across the room and stands at the foot of the bed. 

“Get your frail ass over here.” 

John holds out a hand and Jesse creeps over, carefully sitting at his side. He watches John’s arm trail up and down his arm, kicking up goosebumps over the full real estate of his pale skin. 

“Don’t you eat?”

“I eat, asshole."

“Well, you look sick.”

Leave it to John to find exactly the words to make Jesse feel like microwaved shit. And then to follow that up by wrapping his fist around Jesse’s pitiful bicep.

“Don’t worry. I’m going to fix you. Get you pumping," John says. "No brother of mine is going to walk around looking like a lamp post.” 

Face burning, Jesse starts to stand. John is quick enough to grab his brother before he can escape. He drags Jesse into his arms and holds him like a small kid. 

“Come on. You know I’m fucking with you.”

Of course, he's just fucking around. It's Johnny.

“You miss me?”

“No.” Jesse hides his face in his brother’s warm, solid chest and just breathes him in. 

He's missed this jackass like a fish trying to swim around in the sky. 

“Yeah, right.” John laughs. “Guess what, big baby? Tomorrow, you’re going to go enlist.”


	38. Chapter 38

They stumbled down the hotel corridor clumsy and giggling. John’s hands have been over Jesse’s eyes since they left the elevator. He absentmindedly hummed one of his brother’s favorite songs. Something by Tom Petty.

Jess grinned beneath his makeshift blindfold. "Johnny, what is this going to be?"

“It’s a surprise,” John said. “You trust me, right?”

Of course, his little brother trusted him. John had never led the kid astray. They were both serving Uncle Sam, although John had hopped over to the Marines while Jess was still an Army grunt, but it paid the bills. It had sure as hell toughened him up - at least on the outside. Jesse Winchester would always be a creampuff, but at least that fact was concealed under 250 lbs of pure muscle now. 

John took care of his baby brother. The kid had nothing to worry about. 

He dropped his hands to knock on the door. Doubt blended with the excitement on Jesse’s expression. 

“This is going to be good.”

As if to prove it, the door opened and Azazel dragged John into a scorching hug. He gripped his face between his palms and planted an unnecessary and non-sensuous kiss on his mouth. Then, he blinked at Jesse.

“Holy shit, you weren’t kidding.” Azazel bit his fist, poorly concealing the grin behind it. “Your real, honest to God, flesh and blood brother. What are you guys, twins?”

“Not even Irish,” John said and slapped Jesse’s shoulder. “I’m 4 years older.”

“Well, you don’t look it. Get the hell in here.” While he sauntered toward the bar, Azazel shook his head. “John, you’re a madman, you know that. You really want to shoot with your real brother?”

“Hell, yeah.” 

“What kind of shooting?” Jesse asked, surveying the cameras. 

Clearly, the hotel room doubled as a film set. The scent of sex was as thick on the air as the cheap laundry detergent. Apparently, they’d captured a couple of scenes already.

“You and me,” John said smiling and raised his brows. 

Jesse turned and walked out of the room. 

“Just a second,” John called over his shoulder while sprinting after him. “Hey. Hey. Jess. Wait up.”

“John, I don’t want to shoot porn.”

“Why, baby? You’re so hot.”

Jesse's eyes narrowed. His head shook like there was a bug crawling on the surface of his brain. “I don’t want to do that.”

“You don’t want to document our love? You always say you want people to know about us.” 

“That’s talk, John. I know that’s not. I know we can’t —”

“We can’t stand on a corner holding hands, but we could do this. If you’ll stop being afraid.”

“I’m not…”

There are a few buzz words that work with Jesse every single time. It shouldn’t be so easy. 

“Listen, sweetheart (that's 1), I want everybody to see me fuck you. I want everyone to see how perfect you are and how much I love you ( that's 2).”

With a hand on Jesse’s chest and the other kneading his neck, John could feel his brother’s resolve stretch and then snap. He massaged a moment longer, pressed their foreheads together, and whispered, “Come on, baby (3). It’s going to be amazing.”

Jesse was like a kitten. Sometimes you needed to pick him up by the scruff and put him where you wanted him.

It was Azazel’s idea to flip. John refused, on principle. He'd never bottomed for his baby brother and there was no reason to start now. He did, however, agree that it would be sexy to wear their fatigues.  
It was his suggestion that they use their real (first) names. 

At the end of the scene Jesse - 22 freaking years old - crumbled into tears on the side of the bed. His big brother, John, walked away with two grand, and Azazel got a scene that was hot as all Hell. 

Four months later, both brothers were dishonorably discharged.

Seemed like a great idea at the time.


End file.
